Worldwar: A Delicate Balance
by Chen ZiXin
Summary: The Race conquest fleet is delayed due to a debate on the need for explosive metal bombs and scale of the fleet. When they arrive in Earth's orbit in late 1991 they find an industrialised humanity that is struggling to transition into an era of peace after the Cold War, ideological conflict between capitalism and socialism and constant threat of nuclear war.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: This is a work of (fan) fiction. Events depicted not real events, and characters are likewise fictitious. Events or characters that do correspond with real events or characters, should this be deliberate, are not necessarily depicted as they are in reality, and should not be seen to reflect these events or characters as they are. I do not own the WorldWar series, nor do I own the Race characters, much of the premise etc etc...** _(is there anything else I have to include here? I'm no IP rights expert, and IP laws are different across different jurisdictions... so... don't sue me please.)_

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

 _1991, March 11th..._

George McDonald couldn't believe what he was seeing. Ever since he was a kid he was interested in science fiction novels and talk about space and aliens, and that's why he wanted to work at NASA in the first place... but those were pipe dreams from when he was still a schoolboy. This was, on the other hand, was real.

"You seeing what I'm seeing?" he asked his coworker, Matthew Daniels. It was clear as day what they were both seeing but George had to ask nonetheless.

"Sure am, McDonald. Sure am." Daniels face showed same sort of disbelief that George himself felt. The signs were there ever since the Hubble Telescope went online nearly a year ago, but this was the definitive proof. "Pictures of real extraterrestrial space ships! I... I don't even know what to think."

Neither did George. Nobody knew what to think. It was only when George was about a year old that humans first shot their first satellites into space, and only less than a century ago when H.G. Wells wrote _War of the Worlds_ and that humans first began to really ponder about life outside of Earth. In such a short time humanity had come far... and now contact was imminent. To say that everyone in the room was excited was to say that space is 'big'.

The pictures didn't stop, though. More kept coming, from one satellite after another, and NASA was buzzing with activity, even if people kept stopping to gawk in awe. A message had already been sent in the direction of the alien spacecraft, but considering the distance between Earth and the craft mean it would take several months before the craft even receive the message, assuming said message was sent at light speed. That was discounting the fact that it the aliens had to give a reply, and the fact that the aliens might not even understand them.

"Looks like now all we get to do is wait," George said. He was anxious, but there wasn't much else they were able to do. But then again, for a chance to meet with actual aliens, waiting a few more months wasn't exactly too much of a stretch. He wasn't expecting to find aliens in his lifetime at all until mid last year.

"Not exactly," Daniels replied. "Now that we've confirmed alien life, there's probably a lot more to do than just waiting on our backsides."

"Like what? Send a few astronauts up to greet them?" George glanced at his coworker in curiousity.

Daniels waved the suggestion aside. "No, not 'we' as in just NASA. I mean all of humanity. Worst comes to worst, they might be hostile."

That was true, and George had obviously thought of that. Just about everyone was familiar enough with sci-fi tropes to know of classical alien invasion, at least in fiction, and if humanity's internal history gave any hints it showed that fiction might one day turn out to be fact. "You think they're here for a hostile takeover? Tripod fighting machines, flying saucers and lasers?"

"It's just a possibility is all I'm saying," Daniels responded with a shrug. "And we have to prepare for that sort of eventuality."

George still disagreed. This was a species that had the technology to go from one star to the next, something that humans were far from doing, but even with the technology they have terrestrials are more than capable of wiping themselves off the planet. "If they really were here to takeover then they could easily wipe us out no matter how much we try. Just ask the Aztecs."

Daniels gave another shrug. "I know what you mean, McDonald, but if there's just the smallest bit of hope we might as well grasp it. Who knows? Maybe they're just galactic traders."

George paused to give it a thought. It wasn't impossible. Commerce was just a natural way of life and trading existed since prehistoric times. Even the Soviets and Chinese were opening up to the ways of the market. It wouldn't surprise George that space-capitalism is a thing. It certainly helped to explain why there was such a large number of alien craft identified... they're either here for war or profit.

"I'm not holding my breath, anyway," was all George could think.

* * *

 _1991, June 18th..._

Atvar found himself awoken from cold sleep after the long journey from Home. The fleetlord of the Race Conquest fleet exited the cold sleep chamber, and passed the physical health checks. The checks were likely unnecessary as the Race had long perfected the technology of cold sleep, making mistakes almost unheard of. Nonetheless, the Race is nothing if not meticulous, and measures are taken to minimise risks, even when risks are near to none.

The Race, as they are known, are anything but risk takers. In their minds taking risks is akin to insanity. Logical beings such as the Race, and their subjects the Rabotev and Hallessi, focus on planning and preparing for all eventualities, making sure there is no detail left unattended so that nothing can go wrong. It is this trait that has made the Race's society as flawless and fluid as it is today, after all. It is also this trait that had resulted in delaying the conquest fleet by a hundred years... or if calculated by Tosev 3 years, fifty.

Atvar had almost thought it as silly, at a point. The original conquest was planned to commence 1,600 years after the probes sent to Tosev 3 had collected information, but the conquest was pushed by 100 years over a debate about whether or not explosive metal bombs and anti-missile missiles would be needed for the invasion fleet, since the Tosevite natives were still sword swinging savages from the images sent by the probes.

It was only after carefully thinking about it, though, that Atvar came to see the logic in the delay. Tosev 3 was a planet drastically different from Home, Rabotev 2 or Halless 1. The Tosev star is a lot brighter and hotter than Home, but Tosev 3 is significantly further away, meaning Tosev 3 would be the coldest habitable planet that the Race has seen. It also had a large body of water, which none of the other planets had, making the planet mostly uninhabitable. Its natives, too were much different from the Race, the Rabotev or Hallessi, being much taller, and having soft skin, and clawless fingers. With conditions so different, it was decided that the conquest fleet would be strengthened in various ways, just to minimise the risk of failure even when the risk was next to none already.

"I greet you, Exalted Fleetlord." Kirel, the shiplord of the bannership _127th Emperor Hetto_ , and Atvar's second in command, was already waiting for the fleetlord in the bridge of the bannership.

"I greet you, Kirel," Atvar responded. "Have the other shiplords been awaken?"

Kirel made the negative hand gesture. "No, Exalted Fleetlord. I am the first shiplord to be awoken, and the others are still in cold sleep."

"Why is that?" Atvar asked. This was unexpected to Atvar, as the other shiplords should all be in the process of waking from cold sleep by now, and the unexpected rattled any male of the Race. "The plan was to have all shiplords woken as soon as we enter orbit of the Tosev system."

"With respect, Exhalted Fleetlord, that was indeed the plan," Kirel affirmed. "However we are not yet within the orbit of the Tosev system. It seems that we have been woken nearly a year early."

Atvar let out an irritated hiss. "Why is that?" he again asked, this time with an interrogative cough. Just like any male of the Race, Atvar disliked change... well, any male of the Race expect maybe Straha.

"I do not know, Exalted Fleetlord," was all Kirel could answer with. "I believe we should be informed of this soon."

Not too long later, Kirel's words proved true as a crewmale of the _127th Emperor Hetto_ arrived at the bridge. "I greet you, Exalted Fleetlord, Exalted Shiplord," he said. His expression, however, showed that he was significantly rattled. Whatever it was that forced the early waking of the fleetlord and shiplord, it seemed to have unnerved this crewmale. "I have urgent news to report."

"Go on," the fleetlord commanded.

"Yes, superior sir." The crewmale began to explain: "Our computers are showing radio signals coming directly from Tosev 3."

Both Atvar and Kirel both let out hisses of annoyance. It was rare for Race equipment to malfunction, after all... but still not impossible. "It's likely just a mistake," Kirel said. "Have the computer technician fix the computer at once!"

"With respect, Exalted Shiplord, we have already done so," the crewmale explained. "We have checked several times to make sure, but all components and systems are working well. It is impossible that this is a mistake."

"It is also impossible for there to be radio signals coming from Tosev 3," Atvar retorted. "Let me see this for myself."

"Yes, Exalted Fleetlord!"

The crewmale led his two superiors, the two highest commanding males of the Conquest Fleet, to the computer display. Indeed, the computer showed that the ship had picked up radio signals from the direction of Tosev 3.

"It seems you speak truth," Atvar said. "But why would there be radio signals being emitted from Tosev 3?"

"Perhaps probes left over from the initial scan are still trying to send messages to Home?" Kirel offered. It was unlikely that the Race would forget to bring back its probes, and not even Race probes were designed to last 1,700 years, but it was the only explanation he could think of.

"Exalted shiplord, that seems not to be the case," the crewmale said. "The radio signals are not in any form that our computers recognise."

This information made Atvar very unhappy indeed. It meant that something unexpected had come up before the conquest had even begun. He began to recall video recordings of the debate about the conditions and differences of Tosev 3... was this one of the possible risks that the planners on Home intended to mitigate? Atvar certainly hoped not. In the meantime, however, he must do what a logical Race Conquest Fleetlord should do: collect information and begin planning.

"Have our researchers and technicians decrypt the radio signals into a form that our computers can recognise and locate the source of the signals," he ordered. "And wake the other shiplords. We must begin to plan against potential eventualities."

"Yes, exalted fleetlord!"

As the crewmale scampered off Atvar began to feel a sense of unease in his stomach. Just how different was this planet from how he and the planners on Home expect it?

* * *

 _1991, August 21th..._

It had been a long year for Dmitri. Even longer than the last two years, which considering the state of the Soviet Union was really saying something. And it seems that the worst has yet to come. Things were so bad that Dmitri couldn't sleep properly, getting up before dawn after just lying down for a couple of hours. Feeling that he had to relieve the stress he decided go outside to get a bit of fresh air. As soon as he was outside on the street Dmitri Alkaev started to light a cigarette.

There were few people out in the streets at this time in the day... but there were still a few. The people of Kiev around him did their best not to look at him, but it was obvious that they were shooting him nervous glances when they thought he wasn't looking. Dmitri had long gotten used to this treatment when he wore his uniform and often when he didn't. Even after all of Gorbachev's _Glasnost_ policies, everyone feared the KGB. In light of recent events people had even renewed their fear of the KGB, and rightfully so. But showing your fear in front of a KGB officer only made you suspicious.

Eventually a young man in a khaki uniform walked right up to Dmitri, completely devoid of anxiety. The fact that he could so easily approach Dmitri made it obvious that he was a KGB agent himself, even without looking at the blue collars on his uniform. The young agent glanced around to make sure nobody nearby could be listening before he began his report.

" _Tovarishch_ Major, we have an agent that has returned from the United States," he said in a brisk but clear manner. The man was Ukrainian himself being an agent of the Ukrainian SSR branch, but he spoke perfect Russian without accent. It was arguably better than the news reporters in Moscow. "He has been brought back from his mission prematurely, but nonetheless has brought vital information from their space stations."

Dmitri didn't need to think hard to realise why the agent was brought back from his mission. The KGB was not what it used to be and headquarters were more worried nowadays about... "domestic issues".

 _I should retire like Lt. Colonel Putin did yesterday..._ Dmitri thought. His old commander in East Germany had quit the day after the coup had started. With each passing minute Dmitri could increasingly understand why. The coup planners had originally hoped for support from the public, but the public was overwhelmingly in favour of the Russian President Boris Yeltsin.

"Have you reported this to central command in Moscow?" Dmitri asked. He was working under the Second Chief Directorate, meaning he was to work on internal political control (i.e. keeping an eye on separatists). He wasn't obliged to babysit an agent from the First Chief Directorate (the organisation in the KGB taking care of foreign intelligence).

The chekist agent gave a nod. "Yes Major. However they have said nothing in reply, and so the agent is currently standing by."

It was typical of the past two days of work. Ever since the hardliners took over in Moscow they'd been ignoring everything that wasn't about keeping their grip... this included vital information about whatever it was that was brought over from the United States. From what Dmitri knew of the Second Directorate they had been increasingly focusing their efforts around the American space programmes for whatever reason for the past few months in a way they hadn't since the space race. All that effort suddenly dropped because the central headquarters was too busy playing government. And it wasn't just this information that they had been deflecting... Dmitri had heard next to nothing from Moscow since yesterday, and most of the other KGB branches he could contact were in a similar state of confusion. Such was the short sightedness of the political disputes in the Worker's and Peasant's Paradise.

"Moscow is silent..." Dmitri murmured to himself. He took a long drag from his cigarette, trying once again to ease the stress building up in his mind. "Tell the agent to keep standing by, then try to contact central headquarters again and again until they give you a proper response. Emphasise the urgency of the situation."

"Yes, _tovarishch_ Major," the agent affirmed before walking off and disappearing. As soon as he left Dmitri pulled out another cigarette for another drag. He had heard that in the West there were movements against tobacco because it lead to health issues, but Dmitri didn't care. Smoking was one of the few luxuries that people had in the Soviet Union, especially now that everything was going to Hell. If he couldn't even smoke every once in a while Dmitri didn't really care to live an extra five or ten years when he was old and senile.

Eventually the sun rose and the KGB major decided that he shouldn't stand around idle for the whole day, making his way back to his office. As soon as he stepped into the building he was soon greeted again by the young agent that had reported to him earlier this morning.

"What's the matter? Have you gotten through to Moscow yet?" Dmitri asked. He had other work to do at the moment and he wanted this thing over and done with as soon as possible.

But the look in the agent's expression (though only slight, since he was still a trained agent) told Dmitri that there were things more important than the work he had in mind. "Yes, _tovarishch_ Major..." he said with a degree of hesitation. "But they've much more important things to worry about." He stopped for a moment, but Dmitri kept waiting for him to continue. Not being able to keep the news hidden from his superior the agent said, "It seems that the putsch has failed. The KGB has been ordered to halt all activities."

This had come as a heavy blow to Dmitri. With the failure of the hardliner coup in Moscow the unity of the Soviet people will finally give way to local separatism. If the KGB halts its activities then the Soviet Union is as good as done for! The once mighty Soviet Bear dies not from Capitalist missiles in propaganda, but simply by keeling over and giving up! Even if he didn't support the coup, Dmitri knew that the coup had destroyed what little power Gorbachev had left... now that it was gone, there was nothing left to take its place.

None of this Dmitri let show on his face, of course. On the exterior he was impassive as ever. After taking a moment to calm himself down he decided on taking temporary courses of action. "So be it," he says. "Then I'll go and see what the agent from America has to present myself."

Once again the younger agent hesitates. "Those documents are directed for Moscow headquarters, _tovarishch_ Major..."

Dmitri did his best to bury the urge to sigh. He did so by promising himself another cigarette when he was done. "Don't you see? There _is_ no Moscow headquarters anymore. The KGB, as of today, is no longer a going concern. If that information really is so urgent that it was brought here even with the agent's assignment cancelled then somebody somewhere has to see it and figure out what to do with that information. If that information is not so vital then there's no harm in me seeing it. Since I'm the highest level of command available it might as well be me who makes the decisions on whether it is important and who the information is passed to. If there are any consequences then I will shoulder them. Is that clear?"

The agent thought out the options for a moment. Eventually, though, he came to agree with Major Alkaev. The Union may be on the verge of total collapse, but it was still important to keep the flow of vital information going, and their superiors weren't in a position to punish anyone in the near future. Even if it was against what the KGB usually enforced upon Soviet citizenry, initiative was all they had at the moment. "Understood, _tovarishch_ Major," he said, straightening up and once again looking confident. "The agent is this way."

With the younger man leading the way, KGB Major Dmitri Alkaev walked over to see what he could learn from American Space programmes. Perhaps he could still salvage something out of his position and serve his homeland in some way _other_ than forcing false confessions out of innocents.

* * *

 _1991, August 30th_

There'd been a buzz all around Fort Irwin since the news started to leak out around base that there was an incoming fleet of over a hundred alien space ships, and that buzz had been increasing every day as more and more such news started to circle. To Lieutenant Anthony New, though, it was just an exaggerated rumour getting out of hand.

"Don't believe in aliens, sir?" asked the man next to him. The man, Master Class Sergeant Jose Martinez, a stout, if well built man with more experience than anyone else in the company. "I figured with all the books you like to read you would have read some science fiction."

"Books are books," Anthony replied. "This is this. That's that." And to him that's all there was to it.

The sergeant shook his head. "You should keep an open mind, sir. I remember when I first enlisted we thought we'd be dropping into Europe to fight the Russians any day. Things change, sir, and you have to learn to adapt."

Anthony listened to Jose's words, but didn't give off whether he agreed or not. While it was alright to adapt, there were just some things that you couldn't prepare for. If alien invasions were real, it was likely to be one of those things. The Soviet Union collapsing in on itself, however, was something that just seemed more likely with each passing day.

"Let's suppose the talk is all true," Anthony said. "What of it? It just means we go from fighting Iraqis and preparing against the Russians to preparing to fight against aliens. At the end of the day that's all soldiers have to worry about."

Jose raised an eyebrow. "You sure you're a commissioned officer, sir? Because you just sounded a lot more like an NCO just then."

Anthony gave little more than a shrug. Who and what they were fighting for weren't important. Why they fought, however, was. The job of him as an officer was more about figuring out how the fighting will be done.

Anthony took a note of the time. "Well I'd love to stay and talk, but I have to go to a meeting in a few minutes. Colonel wants all the commissioned officers there."

"Of course sir. I won't take up any more of your time."

And with that, Anthony left the Sergeant to do whatever it was that he did in his spare time.

When he got to the briefing room he was one of the last of the ones there. It wasn't that he was tardy, he just didn't see much point in arriving earlier than he had to. He wasn't late either, since the meeting had yet to start. When everyone finally did arrive, the Colonel began.

"Gentlemen. I'm sure you've heard the recent talk going around the Fort about space boogiemen," he said. His tone made it fairly obvious that he didn't really believe the idea of aliens invading either. This was confirmed with his following line, "And I'd like to tell you all now that I think it's a load of bull."

Just when Anthony was about to nod in agreement, however, the Colonel continued. "But it seems what I think doesn't matter anymore. The eggheads at NASA have already confirmed that these alien spaceships are real, and the higher ups have been informed of this several months earlier. Whether these things are here to invade us or here to bring everyone Christmas presents is still beyond anybody's guess, but we've been told now to prepare for any eventualities."

One of the other men in the room, a Major, raised his hand. "Question, sir. If the higher ups knew this months ago, why are they only telling us now?"

The Colonel glanced at the Major. "You pay attention to the news recently? What's the biggest thing that's happened in the past few weeks?"

The Major pondered for a minute, before answer. "There was a coup in the Soviet Union, sir?"

"Exactly," the colonel said. He gave everyone a moment to try and put two and two together, but most of the blank faces in the room meant he had to explain it so everyone was on the same page. "The Red old guard have been edgy ever since Gorbachev started opening up the country. Most of them were, and still are unconvinced that there even are aliens at all. If we mobilised earlier we might upset them... even if things aren't as tense as they were ten years ago, we still aren't exactly chummy with each other. Does that answer your question?"

The major nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Good." The colonel looked around. "Are there any other questions?"

Most people in the room shook their heads. Others just stared. Nobody really knew what to make of the news. It wasn't even confirmed that the aliens would be hostile yet. If they really were hostile then most likely the armies of Earth stood no chance, no matter what they prepared. Anthony wondered if this is how the Iraqi soldiers felt when NATO intervened in the Gulf War last year.

"Alright. Make sure your men are briefed on the situation tomorrow. Dismissed."

Not long after Anthony left the meeting did he bump into Jose again. "Hello sir," the sergeant said. "Fun meeting?"

Anthony shrugged. "Well it seems aliens are a thing," he said. "I'm glad I didn't bet money on that."

The sergeant, being the first in the platoon other than Anthony to hear the news, whistled. "Well... isn't that something?" he said. He grinned, partially lost in his own thought by the looks of it. "Just when the Russians are going down and the Chinese getting their arses embargoed, it seems we get an even bigger arch nemesis."

Anthony was about to say that the aliens aren't confirmed hostile yet, but he shut his mouth before he did. Honestly, he realised he was just kidding himself at this point. There was no way that the aliens would come from their own planet to another planet in starships just to say "Hi, welcome to the neighbourhood". There was something else about Jose Martinez's statement that bothered him, though.

"... The Russians going down, huh?" he muttered.

"I know. Amazing timing, isn't it?" Jose said, chuckling a little. "Just when we're about to win the Cold War and take our place as peacekeepers of the world, alien come to take it."

"It almost makes you wish the Soviets would hold on a bit longer, doesn't it?" Anthony said.

"Sir?" Jose raised an eyebrow. "I'm not saying I'm sorry that Communism's going under, sir. I'm saying that the timing means we don't get to be king of the hill."

"But that's the thing, isn't it? If the Soviets are gone, we're king of the hill," Anthony said. "And they're here to take our hill."

Jose paused to think for a moment before he realised what his lieutenant was talking about. With the Soviet Empire disintegrating, Europe trying to reconnect its Eastern and Western halves, and China still way behind, the United States is left to be the head of the world.

And the head is always the number one target.

* * *

 **A/N: I wanted to write a fanfic of the Worldwar series for a while now. The first idea was the Race arriving in 1966, the second was to mix it together with Turtledove's new series "Hot War", where the Cold War turns into WW3 in the 1950s. I ended up deciding to start working on their arrival in 1991, though, because this is exactly 50 years after they are depicted to arrive in the original Worldwar series, and 50 is a nice 'clean' number. It also happened to coincide with the collapse of the Soviet Union, and the start of the "New World Order" where the United States is the world's only superpower for good or ill (considering our other option was the USSR, I'm voting 'good').**

 **I think having the Race arrive at this time is a very good time to explore because this is a time when humanity is trying to find its bearings after having two generations worth of a Cold War, and many major powers were in a state of collapse, or were yet to rise. As a result, unlike in other times after 1941 where humans could easily curb stomp the Race, or earlier where the Race curb stomp us, this is just another time where the fight is 'fair', because as the last lines of this chapter indicate, the US will be taking the majority of the conflict, while the rest of the world is trying to deal with their own troubles.**

 **On a segment by segment basis... I feel the NASA segment and the segment with Lieutenant Anthony New to be a bit weak... the former because I don't know enough about space travel and astronomy (in which case I should probably not be writing a science fiction alt history), and the latter because I've never been in the army, so I don't know what people in the army do when they aren't actually in a war. Another issue that is plaguing development is my lack of knowledge of the United States (which most of you will probably find amazing, since most people on English speaking websites are American) since I've lived in NZ for all my life (though I went to Chicago once, and Boston... once... I think...). A similar problem will come up once I start to write European POVs, and I initially wanted Middle Eastern and Indian POVs as well until I realised I know even** _ **less**_ **about these regions. If possible, some feedback on whether or not I'm getting life in the US right or if I'm pulling things out of my trousers would be nice... Comparatively I'm more proud of the scene with Dmitri. I quite like writing about the Soviet Union, its rise, fall, and legacy.**

 **I'll be posting this chapter and maybe a couple other chapters up as 'pilot' chapters to see if people are actually interested in reading this, or if this is garbage that I should destroy in explosive metal bomb fire.**

 **Feedback is welcome. Suggestions will be considered.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

 _1991, September 15th_

The excitement had died down a fair bit at NASA. That wasn't to say that people weren't still a lot more busy and driven than they were, but things had calmed down to a more professional level, and George could see why.

"We've messaged them twenty eight times already, and they haven't given us any signs of noticing," Daniels said. "I'm honestly starting to think they don't really care about us and are just passing through by coincidence."

"Not possible," George replied. "They've been slowing down for weeks now, and at the rate they're decelerating they'll definitely be well within the Solar system. If they aren't here for us then that must mean Mars is a lot more interesting of a planet than we think."

By the time he finished explaining, though, he realised that he really didn't need to. Daniels knew just as well as he did that the aliens were slowing down, and he was smart enough to figure out that meant they were probably heading for Earth. If he couldn't figure out that much he couldn't have gotten the job at NASA in the first place.

It wasn't just NASA that was trying to contact the aliens, either. The Roscosmos (as well as the Soviets that preceeded them) had sent a four messages even with their lack of funding in the face of the demise of the USSR, and the European Space Agency (ESA) had sent a ten messages in eight languages, with more attempts planned. The Indian, Chinese and Japanese, too, had all expressed interest in attempting contact, but are being increasingly put off by the lack of reply.

This made George very worried. If the aliens weren't responding to contact attempts but were definitely here for Earth (and with over a hundred large spacecraft) then that narrowed down their possible motives significantly. Nonetheless, George decided it was better to hope for the best, and assume that this was all just a cultural misunderstanding.

And so he stared down at the computer screen in front of him, showing the movements of the extraterrestrial objects as they gradually speed through the vast expanses of space, closer and closer to Earth. Slowly, George felt himself dozing off a little. The excitement of the initial sighting had worn off, and coffee could only get him so far.

"McDonald, wake up!" Daniels suddenly said with urgency in his voice. He began to shake George's arm with great vigor. "Wake up! Look!"

George suddenly shot up, unsure of when exactly he fell asleep, or how long he'd been out. "... Huh! What? What is it?" He mumbled, trying to shake himself awake. He noticed that the activity around him and atmosphere of excitement had increased since before he dozed off. He didn't need an answer, though, when his eyes met his screen.

"They're moving!" he said. The small blips on his screen showed smaller objects had detached from the incoming spaceships, and travelling towards Earth at a much faster speed. "They're finally making a move!"

"You know what this means," Daniels said. "They got our messages. They're sending a response. We have contact."

George nodded slowly. Yes. They had contact, but they had to wait for the new, smaller craft to get to Earth first. But that was fine. The people of Earth had done a lot of waiting already, and he could see that the wait would soon be over.

* * *

 _1991, October 24th_

" _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_ to _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ , we are closing in on the alien spacecraft's expected orbital position," Benjamin Jenkins said over radio to his wingman. Even though he was extremely nervous to be closing in on a real alien UFO he had ample time to mentally prepare himself for this moment, just as the rest of the United States Air Force did. That, combined with military professionalism, allowed Jenkins to keep his cool and do his job. "Spacecraft is expected to be in range in two minutes."

"Copy that _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_. Let's see if aliens are worth the hype." replied his wingman Joey Blogs in his usual cheerful tone. The man seemed to always take everything with a smile which caused always Benjamin to wonder if it came with having "Joe Blogs" as a name. If Joey was feeling at all nervous like Ben was he certainly didn't show it.

The two F-15C Eagle air superiority fighters continued to soar across the sky, several kilometers above the vast expanse of the ground below. The alien spacecraft they'd been sent to intercept were the first among many meaning that these missions would soon become a regular occurrence, and this specific craft was dropping into Earth's atmosphere not far from NASA headquarters. Most likely the aliens were going after the direct source of the communication messages that had been sent for the past few months, most likely as an emissary. Or scout.

Within a couple minutes he got a reading on his heads up display.

" _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_ to _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ , I have a reading on the alien craft," he said.

"Copy that _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_." Joey paused for a moment, before speaking as though the aliens could hear him, "Welcome to Earth. You are now entering the airspace of the US of A."

Though it seemed at first like a joke to Benjamin he realised that for as far as he knew the aliens were already picking up their radio signals. Maybe they even understood what they meant after having received thirty NASA messages to translate. Whether the spacecraft picked up their chatter or not, though, he wasn't able to tell. Instead the small dot that represented the UFO in the distance just kept flying on its original course towards NASA.

" _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_ to _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ , I am attempting contact," he told his wingman. He changed frequencies to try and get his message to the alien spacecraft that had thus far ignored them. "This is the United States Air Force to unidentified spacecraft, you are entering the airspace of the United States of America..." he paused mentally before remembering to add, "of Earth."

Again, though, the spacecraft gave no hint that it received his message. It just kept flying in whatever direction it was going, and gradually Benjamin's F-15C was getting closer and closer to it. He hoped to God that the spacecraft wouldn't suddenly decide to blast him out of the sky because he was getting too close.

" _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ to _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_ ," his wingman said, this time with as much professionalism as Benjamin had himself, "I don't think they're copying."

"Copy that." Benjamin knew what he had to do next, which only increased his nervousness, but he had to follow through with orders. The fate of humanity may depend on it. "I'll try and close in to see if we can communicate better, cover my back."

"Wilco."

With that Benjamin sped up his F-15C to close in with the UFO while Joey hung back with his weapons locked on the UFO. If the going got tough then Joey's beyond visual range AIM-120 AMRAAMs could take down the UFO, and Benjamin would still have his AIM-9 Sidewinder short range missiles... or that was the plan at least. Who knew if human missiles stood a chance against aliens?

But Benjamin managed to get all the way into visual range without getting a response from the spacecraft. He attempted a few more times to get through to the alien craft but still no response. Eventually he was so close that he could easily make out the spacecraft. It was smooth and slim with a beautifully curved fuselage, contrasting his own boxier F-15C Eagle... but it was a lot less _alien_ looking than he originally expected. In fact it looked almost like a human designed aircraft, but with a perfected finish: more a work of art than a mass produced design. As soon as he started comparing it to human craft he knew of, though, Benjamin realised why it gave no response.

" _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_ to _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ , unidentified alien craft appears to be a UAV of some sort," he said.

"Copy that," Joey replied, once again in a lighthearted tone. "Looks like first contact will have to wait another day."

As Benjamin looked at the alien UAV further he felt the huge sense of nervousness lift a great deal. It was fairly obvious, at this point, that the UAV was non-hostile and unarmed, and was merely getting a lay of the land. Thinking at it from the aliens point of view (as best as he could anyhow) Benjamin realised that this was the most logical thing to do. NASA and the Soviet space programmes both started with satellites and probes to other planets to get a lay of the land too, and if he were going to an alien planet then he would probably send a robotic probe first before sending a live pilot.

But his nervousness only subsided partially. A part of his mind still had lingering doubts... the way the aliens come to the Solar system, don't respond to any attempts to contact and then send several probes to the sources of communication attempts, never once giving a reply or gesture of peaceful intentions... why else would they be here for other than invasion?

* * *

 _1991, November 19th_

Atvar looked at the hologram. It showed a Tosevite warrior clad in armour with a long, metal sword in hand. He rode on a native Tosevite beast with long hair down its neck, which made the already tall Tosevite male stand even taller. It was an image captured by the initial probes that landed on Tosev 3 1,700 years ago.

The planners back on Home had delayed the conquest by one hundred years (fifty Tosev 3 years) because they had to debate the scale of the conquest fleet. Because Tosev 3 had a much larger surface covered by water the fleet was originally planned to be one third of the fleet that conquered Halless 1. This scale was increased back to the Halless 1 conquest fleet size in order to counter 'unexpected circumstances' that the fleet may face on Tosev 3, which made many Race planners very unhappy.

Well now unexpected circumstances were right in front of Atvar's eyeturrets. Atvar pushed a button with his fingerclaw and the hologram of the Tosevite warrior disappeared. In its place was the image of a killercraft, flying high in the sky of Tosev 3, accompanied by incomprehensible radio chatter, another attempt by the Tosevites to communicate with the Race.

Would the planners back on Home ever have dreamed of the things he was seeing now? Tosevite killercraft intercepting and following all their probes? (Primitive) Tosevite spacecraft orbiting Tosev 3? Tosevites sending the conquest fleet radio signals two years (one Tosevite equivalent) before the Conquest Fleet was to land?

"This is not how things were planned," Atvar said. It wasn't the first time he had said this since he had woken from cold sleep. "The Tosevites should not know how to construct killercraft or use radio. They should not have this level of knowledge until after they have become subjects of the Race."

"Truth!" Kirel agreed. "Our probes sent here only 1,700 years ago had shown us that the Tosevites were sword swinging savages!"

"And yet the enemy we face now are able to intercept our probes with killercraft as fast as our own!" Straha said with an emphatic cough. After Atvar and Kirel, Straha was the highest ranking male of the Conquest fleet, and also someone who often got under Atvar's scales. He was a radical male, prone to untested, hasty and addled decisions instead of good logical ones like most males. "We must act with urgency. If this is how quickly the Tosevites can change in 1,700 years then we haven't a moment to waste in this conquest. The conquest should be hastened to commence as early as we arrive in Tosev 3's orbit!"

"An egg-addled idea!" Kirel countered. "That would go against the consistency of the conquest plan!"

"The plan is already inconsistent," Straha said. "It was inconsistent the moment we received radio signals from Tosev 3. We can no longer act as the conquest plan dictates!"

The other shiplords in the room were somewhat divided on the prospects. On the one claw, going against the plan would be going against everything the Race was taught since hatchlinghood. On the other, nobody expected Tosev 3 to be in... _this_ state when they arrived, and the Race dealt poorly to the unexpected.

"Even if we are no longer able to carry out as planned, hastening the invasion by a year is most unwise," Kirel said. "Our probes indicate that the Tosevites' development is uneven across the planet, and the areas where Tosevite military and industry is heaviest are in the Northern half of the planet which is entering its winter season."

"So what?" Straha asked with an interrogative cough. "The strength of the Race will be more than enough to overwhelm the Tosevites even if it is under unfavourable weather. Our conquest fleet is three times that of the original plan, and so is our explosive metal reserves!"

 _What sort of egg-addled plan is he formulating in his mind this time?_ Atvar wondered, not without distaste. He tried to conceal his dislike towards Straha, though. If he weakened Straha's position too much he may lose standing among the other shiplords, and Kirel may gain too much power in comparison.

"How would you suggest we go about this hastened conquest, Straha?" Atvar asked, his contempt barely hidden.

Most likely Straha had noticed the scorn, as he said with a similar level of thinly veiled distaste, "I suggest we use a third of our explosive metal bombs to obliterate the Tosevites' main industrial regions before we commence the invasion. This would destroy the Tosevite's ability to resist, and also show them the might of the Race."

Many of the shiplords present hissed in surprise. This sort of plan was beyond egg-addled, even for Straha. To use a third of the conquest fleet's explosive metal stockpile before the landing even begun, just as a demonstration of force! Thousands of explosive metal bombs dropped over a small portion of the planet they were here to conquer! That would annihilate the continents they're dropped on, leaving nothing to conquer! Such was the madness of Straha's plans.

Atvar, instead of hissing, had his mouth drop wide open in the Race's equivalent of a laugh. "I had thought you would come up with an... interesting plan, but your suggestion far exceeded my expectations," he said. "Now suppose we follow through with your idea and drop a thousand explosive metal bombs over the Tosevite industrial centers... what do you suggest of the colonisation fleet behind us?"

"With respect, _exalted fleetlord_ ," Straha said Atvar's title with as little respect as one could muster when speaking to a superior in irony of his statement. "We will only be dropping our explosive metal bombs over a percentage of the planet... regions that are temperamentally unsuited to our colonists in the first place. The colonists will be able to live in the warmer parts of the planet that are unaffected."

Atvar considered this, even if only briefly, before giving the negative hand gesture. "The radiation resulting from the explosive metal bomb usage would have unforseeable consequences. Your plan is too risky to use."

Straha hissed in annoyance, disappointed that his 'brilliant plan' was turned down. "Our probes have already detected radiation potentially from explosive metal bomb testing on Tosev 3 already! If we don't show the Tosevites the might of the Race it will come back to bite us in the tailstump!"

Atvar again made the negative hand gesture. "I have considered the possibility of this, and the radiation on the planet is too much to be mere testing. Nonetheless, I have instructed our researchers to analyse this information sent by our probes. If you'd like you may ask their opinion."

Straha hesitated for a moment. At first Atvar expected him to step down from his point, but instead he agreed. "Then let us see what the researchers have found."

Indulging in Straha's whims for once Atvar pressed his fingerclaw on one button. On a large screen in front of all the shiplords there soon displayed the head of the research team.

"You requested me, exalted fleetlord?" the researcher asked.

"Yes," Atvar said. "You recall the information on radiation on Tosev's atmosphere I had sent you to investigate? Tell us your findings."

To Atvar's dismay the researcher didn't immediately negate the possibility of explosive metal bombs on Tosev as he had hoped. Instead the researcher hesitated, saying, "Exalted fleetlord, the investigation has so far had little time to conduct proper analyses of the information sent, so conclusions formed at this time may not necessarily be certain... there is also the possibility, though a small possibility, that the probe had sent back erroneous information..."

With each excuse the researcher gave Atvar's impatience grew. These were things he knew already, of course, since the Race had always emphasised making absolutely certain of something before making a move, but even so there were usually only minor details to be sorted out. The general idea should ultimately be the same.

"I understand your points," Atvar said. "Just tell me your current findings."

"... It shall be done," the researcher complied. "With the information we have so far there seems to be almost conclusive evidence that explosive metal bombs have been used across much of Tosev three... current estimates put the total explosive metal detonations at over one thousand detonations within the past one hundred years!"

All the shiplords, including even Straha, hissed loudly in shock. A thousand explosive metal detonations within one hundred years (only fifty Tosevite years)! What sort of egg-addled planet would this have to be?

But the researcher went on. "Most of these explosive metal bomb detonations are concentrated in the Northern side of the planet... one of the areas with the largest radiation has left scars on the planet visible from the probe even before entering the planet's atmosphere! This one we had managed to date back to somewhere around sixty years ago!"

Sixty years, while a blink of an eyeturret in the history of the Race, was still usually enough time for radiation to partially subside... but for it to remain one of Tosev 3's main radioactive craters would mean that the explosion would have to be even larger than ten explosive metal bombs carried by the Race's conquest fleet! Atvar could not believe this, or even imagine it!

"Surely you must be mistaken!" he said with an emphatic cough. This simply could not be. "That would mean more explosive metal weaponry has been used on Tosev 3 than has ever been used by the Race!"

The Race, conversely, had only used explosive metal bombs rarely, mostly to scare others into submission. It had only taken two explosive metal bombs to complete the unification wars on Home, and there have only been rare testing on Home since then, totalling to no more than ten uses.

The researcher seemed to also share this opinion, even if his findings stated otherwise. "Of course, exalted fleetlord. I stress that the analysis is still in early hatchlinghood, perhaps pre-hatchlinghood, so our results at this point cannot be relied upon."

"Very well," Atvar said. "That will be all."

With another press of his fingerclaw the screen went black. Even though the conversation had ended, though, he was still shaken. Why, by the Emperor, would anyone have to use that many explosive metal bombs, and in only a hundred years?

At this point Straha, recovering a bit from the shock, spoke up again. "You see? Proof... at least proof enough that there is strong possibility that the Tosevites have explosive metal bombs, and are even using them liberally! We should consider completely saturating the planet with explosive metal bombs to put such savages out of their misery!"

Eventually Atvar too recovered from shock. He made the negative handgesture again. "The researcher himself has said that the results of the research are not yet conclusive. And even if the Tosevites somehow had explosive metal bombs, why would they have had to used them a thousand times?"

 _Not even Tosevites could be as addled as Straha..._ Atvar thought to himself. Whether or not it was true, though, he started to feel like he didn't want to find out.

One of the other shiplords, one of Straha's faction, spoke up. "Exalted fleetlord, this may be possible," he said. "From the intelligence we've gathered of Tosev 3, there is strong evidence pointing to the fact that Tosev 3 is not yet unified, or has only recently unified as Home has. The explosive metal bombs may have been used in their unification wars."

Atvar hadn't considered that. If that then the Tosevites would potentially be much more used to the idea of explosive metal warfare. But for them to use a thousand explosive metal bombs, even if for unification wars... that would've been enough to create irreparable damage, which the Tosevites (with their radio and killercraft) seem not to have suffered.

Kirel made note of the other shiplord's suggestion. "Exalted fleetlord, this would certainly explain much. It explains why industry is not evenly spread across Tosev 3, and also why our translators have found that their radio messages have been in multiple different languages. It could be that they are... or were several different Empires."

Grudgingly Atvar gave into the possibility. "Very well. Perhaps the Tosevites have developed explosive metal bombs. The fact that a thousand detonations have... _might have_ happened on their planet means that their reserve is most likely expended. Even if there are some leftover they can be dealt with by our anti-missile missiles." _To which we have Spirits of the Emperors past for that._ Atvar remembered that the planners were discussing whether anti-missile missiles were needed against a planet that hadn't developed missiles yet. Instead the stockpile was increased. Hopefully they wouldn't need it, but it was better to have planned for contingencies. "If we really do face Tosevite empires that attack us with explosive metal bombs then... and _only_ then will we go through with Straha's plan."

The probability of that happening, however, Atvar believed to be very low. Nonetheless he knew Straha would go on with no end if he didn't at least pretend to properly consider his idea, no matter how addled it was.

"We shall wait for Tosev 3's summer to arrive before we commence the conquest as originally planned," he announced. "We shall use the time in between to continue gathering information and thoroughly plan primary targets for the conquest."

"It shall be done!" Kirel said with vigour.

"... It shall be done..." Straha with much reluctance.

They had a year left to properly plan the conquest. Not a long time, admittedly, but it should be enough to get the details down. That was the way of the Race, after all. Gather information, plan extensively until there are no flaws. That is why the Race always succeeds. On Rabotev 2, on Halless 1, and here on Tosev 3, the Race will always succeed for that is their destiny as the Race.

* * *

 _1991, December 13th_

The television screen continued to broadcast _Xinwen Lianbo_ 's morning news on CCTV-1. Her husband was staying home, and there wasn't much else to do but watch the state-controlled news outlet, since all private and foreign news media were shut down.

"Our nation's scientists are continuing to work on trying to identify the spacecraft that had flown over the capital city in October," the female news reporter said in standard Mandarin. "Foreign sources, including European, American and Soviet space organisations claim that the spacecraft are of extraterrestrial origin. The General Secretary of the Communist Party of China, Jiang Zemin has announced that the nation must stand in unison against the potential threat that may be posed by this..."

"Utter nonsense," her husband, Zhao Wei said. "They're just pulling imaginary enemies out of thin air as an excuse to keep Party control. They did it with the Americans by calling them imperialists, then they did it to the Soviets by calling them revisionists. Now they're claiming that aliens are coming, citing 'foreign sources'. All lies!"

It was a typical view in China. Hardly anybody believed State propaganda anymore, but believing in aliens was considered nothing short of ridiculous. People in China were significantly more cynical of non-human intelligence than people in the West who watch too many American science fiction films.

Sun Li was a bit different, though. She knew to keep an open mind having graduated from Beijing Normal University majoring in chemistry. She knew that the universe was big, and life outside of Earth wasn't impossible. However she also knew not to keep her mind _too_ open, lest she runs afoul of the Party.

"Could you keep your voice down? Someone might hear you." she whispered. After she was sure that her husband got the message she explained her own views. "I think it's true, actually. I've been told by Ma Yongcai at work that it's more than an excuse to keep their iron grip... he's been told by his cousins working in national space stations that alien craft have been truly been identified."

Zhao Wei hesitated at that. He tended to deflect Party media as lies but he also trusted his wife's word. He too was a graduate of Beijing Normal University, and was also able to accept the possibilities of alien life... at least he would if Sun Li said so. And besides, Ma Yongcai's contacts were usually reliable, if a bit shady.

But even accepting alien life didn't mean he accepted the Communist Party. "Even if there really are aliens coming to Earth, it doesn't change the fact that the Communist Party is only going to use it as an excuse to maintain power."

Sun Li couldn't argue with that. She was no more sympathetic to the Party as her husband was, and she knew that the Party was willing to do anything to stay in power, including making up imaginary alien enemies. Including shooting students.

Looking at the time, though, Sun Li realised she had stayed to chat too long. Even if her husband had a day off, she did not, and she knew it would go against her record if she failed to show up to work.

"I'll be off now," Sun Li yelled to her husband just as she stepped out the door.

Before the door fully closed she heard him yell back, "Be careful on the way there!"

It was an odd thing to tell to someone who's only going to work in a major city such as Beijing. Crime rates were incredibly low here... lower than usual, in fact. Ironically, this only made it more worrying. Even as Sun Li pedaled down the road on her bicycle, she started to dread having to go down this road to work, and the reason was because of something far deadlier than petty criminals, bandits or hooligans. It was the army men.

The whole way Sun Li could see were men in green coats and _Lei Feng_ fur hats. They had their rifles and their large, black, ugly tanks with them. It wasn't just today, either. They had been coming since the end of October, and there seemed to be more and more of them each day. Sometimes they would even close off roads in order to let their tanks drive through, and Sun Li hated it. Even if they were here to protect her against potential alien threats, she wanted them out of the city.

She remembered the last time she saw tanks. Everyone in Beijing remembered. It was two and a half years ago... the "June Fourth" incident. Tanks of the same model had come in together with soldiers to put down protesting students. And by 'put down', they meant 'slaughter'.

Ever since that day life in Beijing started to revert to Maoist policies. with pro-party slogans everywhere and news outlets like _The People's Daily_ or _Xinwen Lianbo_ praising the party for their initiative. They blamed foreign influences for starting the 'insurgencies', and denied that shooting of students occurred. They fooled no one.

 _The Cold War is over! Doesn't the Communist Party see that? The socialist camp is dead! Communism is dead! Even the Soviet 'Revisionists' admit that communism is dead! Stupid!_ Sun Li wanted to shout. Wanted, but didn't. It was a bad idea to badmouth a ruling Communist Party, and the Chinese Communist Party had been especially nervous after watching every Communist government in Europe topple one at a time.

Eventually she made it to her workplace, a branch of a major state bank in Beijing. After parking and locking up her bicycle Sun Li walked her way into the back unit and sat herself in her cubicle. As she walked in she caught the glance of her boss, and Party cadre, Ma Yongcai. "You're late, comrade Sun," he said. "How rare."

Sun Li gave an apologetic nod of her head. "I had to take a detour. I promise it won't happen again." She couldn't make sure that it actually won't happen again, of course. She didn't know what road would or wouldn't be blocked by the People's Liberation Army tomorrow, or even if she'll make it home before dark in the evening.

Ma Yongcai took the apology as sufficient. "It's fine. I only just got in myself, and it seems half the unit has yet to arrive," he said. It didn't surprise Sun Li, since several people had been late far more often than she had because they live further away and are subject to more detouring, and lateness was becoming a common issue in the unit with all the soldiers in the city. The fact that Sun Li only arrived late on occassion, coupled with the fact that she performed well in the unit and didn't strike during June Fourth meant she didn't get in any trouble for it.

"It's not just our coworkers that are absent these days," Ma Yongcai continued as he idly pulled out a cigarette to smoke. "Clients haven't been showing up either."

"It's winter time, so people don't want to leave their houses," Sun Li replied, playing coy.

Ma Yongcai only shook his head. Whether he realised that Sun Li was only pretending or not he didn't show, and instead chose to state the obvious himself. "It's not just that. The soldiers blocking all the roads make it inconvenient, and it also makes people nervous." He stopped before he said _why_ they were nervous, of course. And that was why he was a good Party cadre who gets to smoke expensive cigarettes.

"Maybe," Sun Li partially admitted. Even if her superior was stating these things out loud, Sun Li was cautious to agree too much lest he reported her. "American embargoes aren't helping either," she said, treading over thin ice. "Foreign investment have stopped, which hampers our reserves severely."

Sun Li could easily identify more than that, but showing off too much knowledge was too risky for Sun Li's taste. As it was she had probably already said too much, since everyone knew that the Americans embargoed China because of the June Fourth massacre. She couldn't just play stupid too long either, or her boss would think she really was stupid.

Ma Yongcai, however, was not angry that at that she had identified a root cause of their woes. "Well noted. You're always quick to identify these things," he said with an impressed smile.

"It's nothing. I've just heard you talk it over with the other senior managers..." Sun Li shrugged it off modestly. That way she simultaneously acted within Chinese etiquitte parameters while also shifted the blame away from herself in case she is reported for speaking against the State.

For the rest of the day the workplace was relatively quiet. A few more of Sun Li's coworkers had come in later, but not all of them. Some had called to say they were down with a cold, others gave no excuse. It mattered little, though, since few clients came anyway.

After work, when Sun Li cycled home it was already dinner time. Her husband, after laying out dishes on the table, turned on the evening news, mostly as background noise as they ate dinner.

"... leaders of the Russian, Ukrainian and Belarusian SFSRs have signed the Belavezha Accords and renounced the 1922 Union Treaty, formally dissolving the Soviet Union."

Sun Li suddenly halted. "They what?"

Zhao Wei too seemed a little distraught. He stared at the television for a moment, before saying, "I think they're saying that the Soviet Union is breaking up into smaller states."

"But... why would they want to do that?" Sun Li asked, to which Zhao Wei didn't answer. They both understood that the Soviet Union was not going to stay socialist, but to break up the once proud and mighty Union was something that neither of them could see as a benefit. Perhaps anti-separatism drilled into them since birth was a part of that. And now she was watching the world's largest nation dissolve on television.

It made her wonder... would the People's Republic of China also dissolve if they tried to switch to democracy? She couldn't find herself to answer that question, because if she answered 'yes' then she would be justifying the actions of the Party in June 1989.

* * *

 _1991, December 25th_

The half a dozen or so men in the room, ranking officers of a strategic missile base in a classified location, all stood around the television watching the News. It was a most historical time... perhaps the most historical time since the invention of humans writing things down.

"I'm standing here in Moscow, just outside the Kremlin, it is 7:32 PM here in Moscow, 25th of December, 1991," the reporter announced, wearing a thick coat in the Russian Winter half the world away. "And as you can see behind me, the flag of the Soviet Union is being lowered from the Kremlin for the last time... to be replaced by the new Russian tricolor flag."

As he narrated the cameraman had zoomed in on the Kremlin to let the world see the Soviet flag lowering to symbolically mark the end of the Soviet Union, and the start of the new Russian Federation.

Someone in the room started to clap, and before long the applause had infected everyone in the room. It didn't surprise Colonel Robert Winters, really. The job of everyone in this room had been to keep launch their missiles at the Soviet Union if the authorisation came, and if the Soviets weren't the ones shooting first then they'd sure as hell shoot back. It could be a stressful job, being the trigger to Armageddon everyday... and now it was over. The Soviet Union collapsed. What a way to celebrate Christmas!

"We've been locked in a staring contest for forty plus years," Major General Chuck Weinberg said, "And the other fellow has finally blinked."

"Well said, sir," said one of the other men, a captain. "The reds were already pushing it the last two years, but now we've finally seen the hammer and sickle come down. The Cold War is, for all intents and purposes, over."

"Which means we can stop worrying about them pointing missiles at us and us pointing at them all the time," Winters said. "Or worry less about it anyway."

Not that there weren't other things to be worrying about. In fact, with the whole issue surrounding the spaceship there was now the prospects that they have to aim missiles at incoming aliens instead. The potential end of the world had switched from humanity's death at humanity's hands to humanity's death at alien hands. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

The news on television then switched over to a feed of Russia's president Boris Yeltsin making an announcement in Russian, while the reporter went on in English. "Russian president Boris Yeltsin has promised to create a new path for the Russian people. He states that he will be focusing on domestic issues first and foremost, and will be implementing economic and social reforms. These will include large budget cuts to the newly formed Federation's military spending, and downsizing their nuclear arsenal in upcoming years. The world can now celebrate the end of nuclear war."

The reporter's statement was an exaggeration, of course. So long as there were nuclear weapons, or even just the technology left on Earth, humanity always had the threat of nuclear war looming over their heads. Nonetheless, Winters agreed that the threat of nuclear war was no longer the number one possible cause of the end of the world.

But the Major General's expression had turned noticeably darker than before. "I never thought I'd say this, but I think the Ruskies dropping their budget is a terrible idea."

"Sir?" Winters asked. Most people in the room glanced at him with a similar state of confusion. After all, the Russians had been their sworn enemies for decades, so the less weapons they had the better the US is. All the money they used to spend on guns now went to buying bread. Wouldn't their decline in military spending be a good thing?

But of course, things weren't that simple, and everyone in the room knew it. The Major General merely pointed it out for them. "The way they're doing things... dropping the military budget, dropping their space programme budget, making all these announcements on television... they're pushing all the responsibility on us."

Everyone in the room knew what he meant. The probes the aliens sent a while back mostly went to NASA and Western Europe because those were the main places where space agencies sent messages. This meant the aliens already had their focus on the US and the rest of NATO. By dropping their space budget Russia was basically going under the radar to the aliens, and by dropping their military budget they're basically saying... "You win. You're in charge now. If the aliens invade it's up to _you_ to stop them, and we won't do anything about it." In that light the USA suddenly went from the victor of Earth to a sacrificial lamb.

Of course, this was a move that was expected from the Russians. They'd been in decline for a long time, so even if aliens didn't show up they would've dropped their military budget anyway. If they were still in their zenith then they'd more likely be mobilising their army for a defence, which frankly benefited the US more than anyone. But they weren't in their zenith, the States were.

Once again the news report had changed, almost following the discussion in the room. It had changed over to the President, making an announcement. "We now live in a time of peace on our planet. The totalitarian era has passed, and not only we as a nation, but the whole planet are coming together in a New World Order."

The rest of the speech is cut off, switching back to the reporter's voice. "The President, in his speech, has stated that humanity is now no longer alone in this galaxy, and that we are to be fully prepared to face the future, whatever it may bring."

The entirety of the news report was ambiguous, but everyone in the room knew what it meant. They'd been briefed, after all, and had in fact been working on 'preparations for the future'.

"Well, show's over boys," the Major General ordered. "Everyone back to work."

And with that everyone in the room quickly and neatly filed their way out to their stations. It was Christmas day, but everyone in the Strategic Missile Forces had far too much work to do, even after... or especially after the dissolution of their old number one foe.

"Colonel Winters," Major General Weinberg approached the Colonel at his station not long after that. "Do you have the report I asked for?"

"Yes sir," Winters responded by giving Weinberg a document file, which the Major General immediately opened to skim. Winters elaborated on the more important details. "There've been a couple of delays in the process switching from theory over to the practical design, mostly in regards to targeting. The design team say that it'll take another seven months before we can actually make the modifications, and at least two years before we can apply it to all our missiles."

"We don't need it to apply to all of our missiles," Weinberg said. "Or I hope to God we don't... but we don't really know how much is 'enough'." The Major General furrowed his eyebrows at the conundrum, and Colonel Winters could see why. "Tell them to make it sooner. We don't know how long the aliens are going to sit up in space with their thumbs up their backsides. If they have to cut corners then so be it!"

"Yes sir!" Winters gave a stern salute. Weinberg returned the gesture before walking off.

A young lady beside him, a corporal, glanced over. "If you don't mind, sir, what kind of modifications are the design team working on?"

 _She probably wasn't briefed_ , Winters thought. She wasn't a commissioned officer at the base, so it wasn't surprising. Deciding to indulge her curiosity Winters explained. "We're changing the ICBMs so they can hit targets out in space."

The corporal nodded, "But I thought they already had that capability."

Winters glanced at her, before correcting himself. "We're changing the ICBMs so they can hit targets _far_ out in space." _Exactly how far?_ she most likely wondered, judging by her expression. "So far that we can hit alien spaceships before alien spaceships hit us. If things go as planned our _Minutemen_ will hit anything that comes within the Kuiper Belt with."

That was enough of an answer for the corporal... she probably had enough to think about this Christmas. The Soviet Union formally collapsing and the USA being the defender of the Solar System! The United States would be more than the world's strongest superpower... it would be the only _interplanetary_ superpower, spreading freedom and democracy and the American dream all across the expanses of space, with superior firepower to back it up.

It was only when Winters himself went to talk to the design team that he realised he had a massive grin on his face.

* * *

 **A/N: Some parts of this chapter ended up a lot more fun to write than I thought they would be, which ended up making the chapter a bit longer than the last. This trend will continue once I get to the combat chapters. The F-15C intercept scene, though not detailed like I hoped, was still fun to write, and the US missile base scene ended so much better than the original plan (it was going to be a discussion with the President and whoever's in charge of Strategic Missile command, but I decided against using historical figures for POVs). It was also fairly fun writing Atvar's 'flat what' reaction to Straha's idea of nuking the US to the stone age, and dismissing Earth having nuclear missiles. This is especially ironic when you compare it with the last scene, which is about how the US is going to make nuclear missiles that hit anything in the Solar system (which would be overpowered for this story, obviously, but it'll play its part). The scene in Beijing was, by comparison, the most bland because it was simultaneously long and also not very much related to the Race's arrival, more about the after effects of 1989. The scene at NASA too is weak, but it's not as long and bloated (if only because I don't know what to write).**

 **Another issue I'm facing is the problem of having too many POV characters (I counted the original number to be over twenty... I've cut down a few, but I might add them back later if I decide to kill off POV characters like Turtledove himself does) and every POV character has to be accompanied by other characters and locations and events... which may be too much to keep track of/stay interested in. Anyway, I'm hoping the characters and events so far are believable, or at least passable.**

 **If you spot a bunch of mistakes of any sort it's because I have not quite gone over the spelling/grammar yet. I'm really just getting out the first three or four chapters first to see if anyone think the** _ **idea**_ **is worth the read. After that I'll try to iron out the quality (or so I say).**

 **Edit: I ended up totally forgetting that nuclear weapons tests occurred, even during the time the Race would've sent probes here. To that I'd say that tests were postponed because of the aliens arriving... thermonuclear explosions are quite large, and I don't think Earth wants to act too hostile if alien UFOs arrive, in the same way you don't pull a gun on someone when they move into your neighbourhood. Nonetheless, the fact that there should be enough radiation to create undeniable evidence that Earth nuclear weapons (and a lot of them) has been noted, so I've lengthened the discussion. I wanted to show their shock to the Tsar Bomba's scars better, but it's too hard for me to accomplish.**

 **I also just remembered that December 25th is Christmas, and the reason I remembered is because today (as of writing) is Christmas eve. I never really celebrated Christmas all that much, but that suddenly just made the date the Soviet Union's flag was lowered that much more significant. I'm starting to think the last few lines of the last scene are a bit bad, though... it makes America look like it's really pushy with its ideals (which it was and is, but in the 1990s I'm sure this was still seen as a genuinely good thing).**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

* * *

 _1992, February 22nd..._

Usually at NASA a programme to send a probe around Jupiter would take years, maybe even a decade of preparation and planning before they launched. It would usually take time to allocate funding as well. Then again, usually aliens don't show up hurtling towards Earth unannounced and ignore all attempts to contact, which meant an exception was applicable. Almost everything was put on hold for the _Contact_ programme, and the government was more than willing to pay for the project even before the plan was put forward. In fact, the federal government was pushing the project to be rushed to an earlier date than planned, but were ultimately convinced that such a rush job was doomed to fail. Nonetheless, NASA had sent a space probe to intercept the incoming alien space fleet sometime in November, only eight months after they first confirmed the craft as built extraterrestrial intelligence, and now only three months later they were about to get the first images back from the probe.

"Looks like this is it," George said. "Contact."

Matthew Daniels beside him nodded. George didn't actually see the gesture, but he could feel it. Both of them had their eyes fixed on the display screen in the room"And it seems we're the first ones to initiate it," Daniel said. "Now that we're sending a probe right in their faces I seriously doubt they can keep ignoring us."

George shrugged. Who knows? The aliens had ignored all the radio messages sent by NASA and everyone else on Earth for months now. Why would sending a probe necessarily be different? Maybe the alien spacefleet was unmanned, just like NASA probes. Not that George would bet money on it.

And on the screen in front of them they watched the video feed from the probe. There was a distance between Earth and the probe, so even at light speed the it took a few minutes to get in contact with the probe, and even longer to load images and videos thus meaning the images they saw on their screen were not in real time. Nonetheless, George felt tense.

Gradually the images on the screen displayed the alien spacecraft clearer and clearer. Even though the distance between the probe and the alien fleet was still fairly large George could already see the incoming alien spacecraft to be quite large... although not quite like flying saucers space ships like George had seen in science fiction movies, but more like large rockets not too dissimilar to the ones used by NASA (though visibly more advanced and refined).

Suddenly Daniels turned down at the small computer screen in front him. George noticed the tense expression on his coworker's face, and so he too stared down at the small computer screen. As he did so his heart sank.

"We lost contact," Daniels stated.

Just about everyone in the room somehow heard that comment, as all of them glanced at Daniels with the same look of dread that George must have had himself. It was too early to shrug it off as the probe being destroyed by the aliens, plenty of other things could've gone wrong after all... but again, George wasn't willing to bet on it. With each passing second the odds started to feel slimmer that interstellar war could be avoided.

The larger display screen, showing the video feed from the probe, continued to lag even more behind real time. George started to once again fix his eyes on the video feed, trying to see if he could detect what went wrong with the probe.

The video soon showed about two minutes afterwards, from the alien spacecraft slowly and surely came a small object, hurtling towards the probe. The closer it got, it seemed, the faster it came. Just before the video cut, for a brief second, it was extremely clear what the object was: A missile.

The aliens were hostile.

* * *

 _1992, February 22nd..._

Expectations. Expectations are a funny thing. Hitler, and just about everyone else, thought that the Soviet Union would come crashing down when the _Wehrmacht_ started Operation Barbarossa. When Colonel Robert Winters first joined the armed forces, and even before that he was taught to expect that nuclear missiles would be flying any moment, and that either the Russians would be shooting first, or the USA would be shooting first to prevent the Russians from shooting first. Either that or nobody shoots, and the USA and USSR keep playing the Cold War game forever and ever, meaning the he expected the Soviet Union to last forever. Then Gorbachev came, the Cold War began to wind down and the Soviet Union was torn apart, everyone started to expect an era of global peace and the spread of American Values everywhere. And _then_ aliens suddenly showed up, meaning everyone started to expect the aliens to come down to Earth firing lasers and plasma beams to enslave the human race, impervious to all human weapons.

With the recent confirmation of alien hostilities Winters was beginning to hope that the last of those expectations turned out to be as false as the first few.

"Colonel Winters!" called Major General Weinberg. Winters turned to the Major General, giving him a proper salute and Weinberg returned the gesture. "I'm sure you should know the situation we're in."

"Yes sir," Winters said. "I've ordered our anti-space missiles to be on full-alert status. We'll be ready to launch as soon as we receive the orders."

"Good... which means we're only waiting for the green-light from the President," Weinberg nodded, partially content, but only partially. " How many missiles are launch capable?"

Winters hesitated a bit. The Major General had ordered him to get the development team to speed things up, but results were still less than satisfactory. "There should be a total of seventy-six modified Minutemen III missiles that are launch capable, but all of them are not tested and development has been severely rushed."

Weinberg's expression grew sour by the tiniest amount. Seventy-six wasn't enough, and that wasn't even accounting for failed launches or other errors along the way. "Let's just hope we give the aliens a good scare."

"Yes sir," Winters agreed. Of course he wasn't even certain that the missiles would have any effect on aliens, and if they didn't then the aliens might be less scared and more peeved off.

"Major General, sir!" a captain said, rushing over, slightly short of breath. He quickly sketched a salute. "We've gotten word from strategic central command!"

"Well?" Weinberg said with a hint of impatience.

The captain straightened up a bit before continuing. "They said that launch has been authorised by the President and Secretary of Defence."

"The wait is over," Weinberg said. "Order for all anti-space missiles to launch at once! "

"Yes sir!"

As Colonel Robert Winters complied he felt himself overwhelmed with exhilaration. Would the untested modified Minutemen all fail to launch? Would the aliens have forcefields impervious to attack? Or would the Strategic Missile forces blast them to kingdom come before they even set foot on Earth? Things that Winters had tried to prevent himself from thinking before suddenly rushed through his mind as he finally gave the orders that he had once thought would spell the end of the world.

"All silos! LAUNCH IMMEDIATELY!"

* * *

 _1992, March 5th..._

Much had gone wrong for Breltan. He was woken from cold sleep much earlier than planned to be briefed that the Tosevites were more advanced than they were seventeen hundred years ago. After that the Tosevites had sent a space probe all the way from Tosev 3 to the Conquest fleet... that too had rattled Breltan's tailstump, something he had not yet forgotten. After that it was reported that an even greater number of objects were launched from Tosev 3 towards the conquest fleet... now Breltan had finally gotten the confirmation that these were missiles.

Radar technician Breltan aboard the _67th Emperor Sohrheb_ transport ship hissed in dismay as the automatic alarms screamed. He too began to scream with them. "Missiles incoming!"

 _The Tosevites have missiles! Missiles that shoot all the way into space!_ he thought to himself in complete shock. Missiles that shot spacecraft were rarities in the Race, since they were never needed... but the Tosevites were firing such missiles at them. On his screen he counted a total of forty-three missiles heading towards the conquest fleet at great speed.

Fortunately his radar soon began to display anti-missile missiles in equal number launching from the _67th Emperor Sohrheb_ to smash the incoming Tosevite missiles. His mouth dropped open in amusement as he watched one Tosevite missile after another disappear from his radar screen, shot down by the Race's anti-missile missiles.

"You'll have to do better than that!" Breltan said in glee.

But his celebration was short lived. Breltan, as a proper male of the Race, had always learnt that the Race was the most advanced race in the universe. As such he could never imagine technology used by other races that were not first developed much, much earlier by the Race. This factored into Breltan not expecting the Tosevites to fire missiles into space at all, and it also factored into him not foreseeing what happened next.

The Race, having a very short history with explosive metal weapons, had only bothered to perfect the technology, but not to further develop the weapon. All the explosive metal weapons of the Race, therefore, were singular warheads placed on singular launch vehicles, meaning if an anti-missile missile was fired at an explosive metal missile then the threat is neutralised. Tosevites, on the other hand, had developed the idea of having Multiple Independently Targeted Reentry Vehicles and decoy warheads to minimise the effect of anti-ballistic missiles. And so Breltan watched in horror as the last remaining Tosevite missiles, even though there were less than half of them left, suddenly split into three much smaller missiles just before the anti-missile-missile destroyed them, tripling the amount of Tosevite warheads in the air.

"What? They can't do that!" Breltan cried. But it was too late. Even though anti-missile-missiles were once again launched to try and counter the more numerous, smaller missiles they had already come too close to the _67th Emperor Sohrheb_ , making it impossible to shoot all the Tosevite missiles down.

Breltan braced for impact, hoping that the inbuilt shielding of the ship would mitigate the effect of the missile. However his efforts were futile as five 350 kt warheads detonated against the _67th Emperor Sohrheb_ 's hull.

* * *

 _1992, April 14th..._

Dmitri Alkaev, a former member of the now defunct KGB, was not unemployed. All things considered he was doing quite well for himself. As such Dmitri considered himself lucky. Many of his old colleagues were having difficulty finding jobs in new Russia considering there was no longer a need for people with "killing and torturing for the state" as their only skill set.

Dmitri had gathered many other useful skills through his position: The ability to lie through his teeth, to keep a straight face at all times, to think fast on the spot, to control information... and of course, he was also one of the first people in the (former) Soviet Union to know of and acknowledge the coming of an extraterrestrial threat. These are probably what factored into him landing a job as a diplomat in Moscow.

"We... we've arrived," stuttered his interpreter, gesturing to the United States Embassy building just outside the car as the vehicle stopped.

 _I can see that_ , Dmitri thought as he got out of the car, though he didn't speak his mind. Dmitri had spent much of the car ride intimidating his interpreter who showed he had a hint to Dmitri's former occupation, but Dmitri knew he shouldn't amuse himself too much at the expense of the poor sap.

After being led to the meeting room and having his interpreter go through the diplomatic formalities Dmitri was soon sitting in a room with his American counterpart.

"I believe you've been trying to get through to us for several weeks now, mister Alkaev," the American said with an annoyingly bright smile. Dmitri's interpreter translated his words from English to Russian. "I apologise for the delay. What is it that you wish to discuss with us?"

"Space," Dmitri replied. His interpreter waited for him to say more, but translated the word when no more came. It was an amusing sight for Dmitri watching his interpreter trying to translate the single word with complete seriousness to be met with a raised eyebrow from the American ambassador. Knowing that neither one of them got the message Dmitri stoically elaborated. "Things coming from space. Things going to space. Maybe even things colliding in space"

"I see," the American's face soon lit up once again with his cheerful and almost smug demeanor. "Yes, I had a feeling you'd want to talk about that. In which case I assure you that the United States of America has confirmed that the incoming aliens were hostile before we had taken action."

"And I assure you that the KGB confirmed people labeled 'enemies of the Soviet Union' were hostile before we took action." Dmitri glanced at his interpreter who was too shocked to speak. "It's fine if you don't want to translate that part. I'll go find a replacement who will."

"Err... no, I'll translate it," his interpreter said, relaying Dmitri's words back to English. Dmitri relished in watching the self-righteous expression fade from his American counterpart as his interpreter did so, though he made sure his delight didn't show on his own face. Before the American could voice his displeasure, however, Dmitri switched to the point of the meeting.

"Two months ago the US had fired such rockets at the aliens and last month the rockets had impacted with the alien spacecraft, but the alien spacecraft continue towards Earth unimpeded. Regardless of whether or not the aliens were considered hostile, this was an act done unilaterally by the United States without consultation of the Russian Federation, or any other country."

"We had informed you of the launch and had been giving you information about the plan to launch early in February," the American replied.

"Informed." Dmitri pointed out. "Not consulted."

After a pause the American once again smiled. This time it was definitely a smug smile. "I think I get where you're going with this. I assure you the United States has the best interest of all people of Earth, including the Russian people in consideration."

 _And I assure you that the Sovetskiy Soyuz had the best interest of all workers and peasants of the Warsaw Pact in consideration..._ Dmitri once again thought. But that was the thing, wasn't it? The Soviet Union used to be a massive counterbalance force to the Americans for better or worse. Now it was gone. The Americans were free to do whatever they pleased in the name of "world peace" and didn't need to give a damn if the new Russian government agreed or not.

Dmitri remained impassive. "By firing rockets at the aliens you create a de facto state of war between Earth and the aliens. It remains yet to be seen if the aliens will differentiate you from us. For as far as we know you may have dragged the Russian Federation, and the rest of the world for that matter, into a war that none of us can afford."

The American continued to smile as he spoke, certain of his own correctness. "I understand you concern, Mister Alkaev. I'm pleased to inform you that such a war would not be as hopeless as you may think it is. In fact, NASA has confirmed that our efforts to halt the aliens before they reach Earth have already achieved some success: two alien spacecraft have already been destroyed so far with our missiles. This in and of itself proves that the aliens are not impervious to attack."

 _That I did not know..._ Dmitri noted thoughtfully, even as he continued to negate the American's point. "Perhaps not impervious to attack. But from what I know the United States Strategic Command has already launched all of its space-capable missiles, and by the time the you build more the aliens would already be on our heads."

"We'd destroy the aliens before that happens," the American said, still so certain he was absolutely correct that Dmitri was beginning to find it a little jarring. "Our ICBMs will smash them as soon as they're in orbit."

Dmitri felt a sudden chill run down his body. He was able to keep it from showing on the outside, of course, but the sudden realisation that the Americans were willing... even _eager_ to use nuclear weapons against the aliens gave worried him somewhat. Was this how the Americans would've reacted if the Cold War had turned hot?

Gradually, though, Dmitri started to see some sense in the Americans' logic. Nuclear weapons were the best humanity had, and if the aliens were so advanced as to be space-faring then it'd probably be more intuitive to take them out before they even landed, now that they had proof (or at least claimed to have proof) that the aliens were hostile.

As for the rest of the world... Dmitri doubted his superiors would be as eager to lob a nuclear warheads into space, especially with all the budget cuts to the military, and nobody else in the world had the capacity to do something so crazy. The fate of humanity now depends on the Americans gamble. Either the Americans succeed and humanity wins, or the Americans fail and humanity loses.

"Very well," Dmitri said, standing up. "We'll see."

* * *

 _1992, May 30th..._

Atvar once again found himself looking at the hologram of a Tosevite warrior riding a Tosevite beast. An image collected by the probe 1,700 years ago (850 Tosev 3 equivalents) of the foe he was supposed to expect to face now that the conquest fleet was about to enter the orbit of Tosev 3.

 _If only it were so simple..._ he thought to himself, his mouth nearly opening in a laugh of bitter irony. But things were not simple. The conquest had not even begun and already things were happening faster than he or any of the shiplords could plan for.

Atvar turned off the hologram. It was useless looking at it now. He had to plan for the conquest.

"Shiplords," he said. "The time has finally come for us to conquer Tosev 3. This will be the last meeting we shall have before the conquest commences." His fingerclaw pressed a button and holographic images began to appear as he narrated them. "We are already reaching orbit of Tosev 3, and as we speak we are destroying the Tosevite's communication spacecraft that orbit their planet. As you can see, even though they've advanced far beyond what we had initially expected, their technology is still behind that of the Race."

"You say that merely by looking at the crudeness of their spacecraft?" Straha interrupted with an interrogative cough. "Need I remind you of the Tosevite missiles that had destroyed the _67th Emperor Sohrheb_ and the _56th Emperor Jossano_? Missiles that carried multiple explosive metal bombs each?"

The mention of the destruction of the two starships caused many of the shiplords to hiss in displeasure. The Tosevites had destroyed the _67th Emperor Sohrheb_ and the _56th Emperor Jossano_ in a way that the conquest fleet could not retaliate. The latter carried much of the conquest fleet's explosive metal bombs. Two starships of the conquest fleet destroyed before the conquest had even begun!

"Speak when it is your turn, Straha!" Kirel said with an emphatic cough, Atvar's second in command. "Or do you forget your place?"

"What place is there for ceremony if we're up against a foe that could swat us out in space before we can hit them first?" Straha retorted.

"Enough, both of you!" Atvar said, irked that the meeting was already getting out of hand. "We will make the Tosevites pay for the damage they have done! But we must first plan how we shall exact our revenge!"

"I have already said exactly how we should exact our revenge," Straha once again spoke out of turn. "Expend half of our explosive metal bombs on the most advanced areas of Tosev 3! We must teach them that the Race is far, _far_ stronger than they are, such that they will fear retaliation and lose the will to fight!"

Atvar knew of the plan. Straha had indeed mentioned it several times, and although Atvar had negated it each time he was increasingly finding it hard to resist the plan. It was addled, just like all of Straha's other suggestions... but Tosev 3 had thus far proven to be _at least_ as addled as Straha.

"Even if we do drop our explosive metal bombs on Tosev 3," Atvar said, not quite directly turning down Straha's crazy plan, "What next? We would still have to plan for the conquest. We must confirm our landing points and choose where to focus our objectives."

Straha silenced himself much quicker than usual, likely owing to the fact that Atvar didn't overtly disagree to using his plan. Of course Atvar still had no intentions of using said plan, but for now he was fine with Straha not interrupting him.

As such the shiplords began to plan the primary and secondary objectives for the final time. The main focus of the assault would be the Northern half of the lesser continental landmass, and North-Western half of the greater continental landmass due to their stronger industry and known military bases. Secondarily would be other areas of the primary continental landmass with larger concentrations of Tosevite population, where over a third of the Race's forces would land. Third would be landing forces in hotter areas of Tosev 3, where there were few Tosevites, which allows the conquest fleet a fairly hospitable base of operations to fall back on. A multilayered plan with details ironed out over many year-tenths... a short time for the Race, perhaps, but long enough (so Atvar hoped).

As soon as the meeting was adjourned, and the shiplords returned to their respective starships, the conquest would formally begin. Kirel was the only shiplord left on the bridge together with Atvar, watching with him as they neared Tosev 3.

"Tell me, Kirel," Atvar asked the shiplord of the bannership, the _127th Emperor Hetto_. "Do you think the conquest can succeed."

"Exalted fleetlord, I am _certain_ that the conquest will succeed," Kirel responded. "Perhaps not as smoothly as the conquest of Rabotev 2 or Halless 1... it may take years before we succeed in our conquest, but we will succeed. The Race will always succeed."

Atvar agreed. He too felt certain that the conquest would succeed... but just how much longer than he expected? Would he be able to conquer Tosev 3 before the colonisation fleet arrived?

Suddenly a screen reserved for emergencies only lit up in the room. "Exalted Fleetlord!" the adjutant's expression showed that whatever he had to report, it truly was an emergency.

"What is it?" Atvar asked. Once again, however, Atvar could not have at all prepared himself for what he was about to hear next.

"The computers are showing that missiles are coming directly for the conquest fleet! They are similar to the ones that had destroyed the _67th Emperor Sohrheb_ and the _56th Emperor Jossano_! But this time..." the adjutant paused, not quite believing his own words. "There are over _one thousand_ Tosevite missiles, and more are showing up each moment!"

Atvar didn't know if he hissed in displeasure or not. He didn't quite know anything in fact. He was dazed by the information. A thousand missiles, each with multiple Tosevite explosive metal bombs! That meant that the Tosevites were throwing as many explosive metal bombs at the conquest fleet as Straha had recommended to throw at the Tosevites!

 _Everything is egg-addled!_ Atvar thought to himself. _This is a dream! A bad, bad dream! I'm still in cold sleep, and this is a bad dream because the cold sleep coffin isn't working properly!_

He was woken from his shock when a second screen lit up, this time showing Straha. "Exalted Fleetlord! We must retaliate _immediately_!" Straha screeched with an emphatic cough.

Atvar stared at the screen for a moment, and for a brief moment he started to feel that maybe Straha wasn't as addled as Atvar first thought. That in and of itself was egg-addled. Atvar then looked to Kirel, who in turn looked back at Atvar with equal shock. Neither of them knew what to do, now that thousands of explosive metal bombs were hurtling towards them. Males of the Race responded poorly to the unexpected, and they could _not_ have expected this.

"All ships, fire anti-missile missiles to destroy the Tosevite missiles!" Atvar responded. "Do not let a _single Tosevite_ explosive metal bomb hit our ships!" Turning to the emergency screen he asked his adjutant, "Tell me, where are the Tosevite missiles coming from?"

"They're coming from the Northern half of the lesser continental landmass, exalted fleetlord!"

 _Of course..._ Atvar laughed. _In the end it's the lesser continental landmass that's the root of all the problems._

"Straha?" Atvar said, turning to the screen that showed the shiplord that he disliked the most. "Your plan to use half our explosive metal bombs... do you have _specific_ targets?"

Straha, quick to catch on to Atvar's meaning, also had his mouth drop open in a horrific laugh. "Of course, exalted fleetlord," he said. "I'll send them to you at once."

"Not me," Atvar said, making the negative hand gesture. "Give them directly to the other shiplords. Have them fire their explosive metal bombs _now._ "

Once again Straha's mouth dropped in a laugh. "It shall be done, exalted fleetlord."

And with that, the screen flickered and went blank, leaving Atvar to reflect on the situation he had found himself in. As he did so he could already see distant flash of lights, some from anti-missile-missiles destroying Tosevite missiles, others from Tosevite missiles smashing into ships of the conquest fleet. Atvar didn't even _want_ to think about how many casualties the conquest fleet was taking at the moment.

 _The invasion has just begun... and we're already using explosive metal bombs in the thousands..._ he thought. _Will there really be a planet left to conquer when we're finished?_

Within less than half a day-tenth even more blinding lights were seen as explosive metal bombs burst across the Northern half lesser continental landmass. The long, painful conquest had started.

* * *

 **A/N: This chapter took longer than expected. I've had several things to worry about in between. I'll likely be pushing out another chapter before slowing down even further though.**

 **Initially this chapter was going to also have a scene with Killercraft pilot Teerts but I've decided to push it to the next chapter, which is going to be a more or less purely combat orientated chapter, meanwhile this chapter will remain a purely strategic (as in 'lobbing nukes') chapter. I also contemplated having the perspective of someone on the ground as the nuclear weapons dropped, but I didn't quite know who or how to fit it in.**

 **This chapter is also one of the biggest things I'm worried about with this story as a whole: It starts off effectively dropping a thousand nuclear weapons on the USA, and a few hundred in Western Europe. I did this because frankly it was the only thing I could think of that could actually balance out the war: by the 1990s the United States alone could easily wipe the floor with the Race, and Europe wasn't far behind. By dropping enough nuclear weapons on the US to cripple their industry/military bases, and also focus a large proportion of the conquest fleet's forces on the US is the only way I could think of to make the Race something of a credible threat. The other nations of the world I could more easily justify if their performance against the Race is poor: after the collapse of Marxism-Leninism around the world, Russia (and co) and China had militaries that had less motivation than a depressed drunk, and there were logistics issues throughout the former Warsaw Pact.**

 **At the same time I don't want the USA wiped from the map. Even if only in fiction, I'm not okay with wiping an entire country's population away, so I'm going to say that the Race's explosive metal bombs were only targeted at strategic military locations, and that there was minimal collateral damage owing to the Race's careful planning and precision technology (perhaps I should try integrate that in story?). Even then, not all the Race's missiles would necessarily hit their targets, since the USA would have a missile shield (perks of coming fresh out of the Cold War).**

 **I still feel a few of the scenes are less exciting than I'd hoped they'd be: The NASA scene lacks tension, since the readers (you guys) know that the Race is hostile. The Strategic Missile Command scene was better, but not by much. The scene with Dmitri focuses too much on the former-Soviet Union, which emphasises the stereotype of "Russia = USSR", but I'm just going to shrug that aside as Dmitri being former KGB (later Russian characters will be less... Soviet). The Race's reactions to America shooting nuclear missiles in space, though, was a lot more fun to write (though the scene with Breltan was *** _ **ahem**_ *** 'inspired' by the scene in the novel, reacting to Dora's shells). The sheer shock of realising that America is throwing a thousand Minutemen missiles, each with three MIRV warheads is something that would shake Atvar in a way that nothing in the original novel could've, in my opinion, and I'm not sure if I've portrayed that in full.**

 **So that's that. Let me know if you disagree with me nuking away half the US armed forces, or any other part of the story thus far, I'm happy to discuss at this point. Otherwise I'll continue assuming that all is well. In the next chapter: Actual combat. Staring Teerts, Ussmak, and some human characters that I have yet to decide from.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **A/N: A review of the last chapter said that the Race spaceships didn't have firing capabilities, and now that I thought about it that does seem to be true. I'm going to let the Race keep anti-missile defences with the excuse of "It was one of the things the planners decided to add" in this Fanfic, but felt that I couldn't just handwave away the fact that Race nukes were all plane dropped. As such I've added a scene in this chapter that I originally plan for... and it also means that the story may have to go a different route from what I planned before.**

 _1992, May 30th..._

Scramble. That one word applied to the entire armed forces of NATO, and perhaps the world. The United States Strategic Missile command launched an ungodly amount of nukes up at the alien fleet in an attempt to destroy them completely but the aliens were much more prepared than they were deep in space. The aliens managed to shoot down most of the _Minuteman_ missiles before they even reached Earth's outer orbit, and from what Benjamin could imagine they were not exactly happy about the welcome.

" _Hotel Command_ to _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_ , you are about to enter engagement range of the incoming alien spacecraft."

"Copy that _Hotel Command,_ " Benjamin replied with professionalism as always. Panicking now helped nobody, after all... but that didn't mean Benjamin wasn't panicking on the inside. He felt nervous back in October as well when he encountered the alien probe. He was commended afterwards for maintaining his cool. This, however, was nerve-racking on a whole different level.

His HUD began to show unidentified craft detected by radar, lighting up one by one. With each UFO identified Benjamin felt his heart sinking just that much further. His squadron had twenty four F-15C Eagles up in the air, and more squadrons were being scrambled all across the country... but that was little condolence when Benjamin could see somewhere north of _three hundred_ alien craft swarming out the large alien ship in the distant, like a swarm of frenzied hornets emerging from their disturbed nests.

" _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ to _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_ ," Ben's wingman Joey spoke up. "Things have really gone South this time..."

Benjamin said nothing in response. What was there to say? Joey was right and everyone knew it.

"Hey Ben," Joey continued. His voice unusually perky for the situation. "If I die tonight and you don't could you send my money to my parents for me?"

"Don't joke about things like that!" Benjamin said. Even as he did, though, he let out a small laugh. It wasn't so much that what Joey said was funny, rather Joey's upbeat tone alone was amusing. It amazed Benjamin how he could manage to stay in a good mood even when they were flying towards certain death.

It was as Benjamin pondered this that he suddenly heard klaxons going off in his F-15.

"This is _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_! I've got missile lock!" he yelled as he immediately began to take evasive maneuvers.

" _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ to _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_! Make that two of us!" Joey said as his plane mimicked Benjamin's movements. "The shit has officially hit the fan!" Not long after that every plane in the squadron began to move about wildly as they tried to throw off missiles.

Benjamin checked the distance between his own craft and the aliens... " _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_! The _Bogey_ missiles outrange us! We've got to get closer!"

"Thank you Benjamin _Obvious_!" he heard Joey shoot back.

The next minute went by in a wild blur as the squadron simultaneously tried to fly towards the alien aircraft and at the same time dodge hundreds upon hundreds of incoming missile. The F-15s all released flares, seemingly in unison, lighting the night sky up for a few seconds... and to Benjamin's surprise, leading all of the alien missiles off course.

In disbelief he glanced at his squadron. It seemed just about everyone made it through. "... _Finder-One-Seven Niner..._ how are we all doing?"

" _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ to _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_ , Mackey had to bail. That leaves twenty three of us left. Twenty three against a few hundred." Joey replied. "Odds aren't good, but they're better than what I thought they would be."

Benjamin nodded to himself. He was sure that the squadron was doomed when the alien missiles came, but a combination of ECM, flares and maneuvering had left the squadron mostly intact. They were still outnumbered over ten to one, but at least they weren't dead yet.

" _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_ to _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ , _Bogeys_ are getting within range of our AMRAAMs."

"Copy that _Finder-One-Seven-Niner."_ Joey's tone of voice revealed to Ben that he was grinning, even if Benjamin couldn't see it. "Let's see if they dodge our missiles like we dodged theirs."

Benjamin once again let out a small chuckle. His earlier fear of imminent death had given way to anticipation now that it was his turn to fire. As soon as he had finished selecting his targets he released all four of the long range AIM-120A AMRAAM missiles, and Joey and the rest of the squadron followed suit. The missiles fired beyond visual range so he couldn't see if the aliens bothered to maneuver or not, but a part of him was somehow hoping they were.

 _If the aliens have to struggle to not get hit by our missiles then maybe we have a fighting chance..._

Benjamin's hopes were soon answered as a few of the blips disappeared from his HUD. Then more of them. Then even more. They disappeared at almost the same rate as they had appeared only minutes earlier.

"Hit!" he cried in glee. He didn't do so over radio, of course, but in his own plane nobody could blame him for letting his excitement getting the better of him.

" _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ to _Finder-One-Seven-Niner_!" Joey called over the radio in equal excitement. "That's something near of forty _Bogeys_ down! Looks like the aliens aren't so tough, huh?"

"They certainly don't have force fields, that's for sure!" Ben responded. "But don't get too cocky just yet. We're all out of AMRAAMs... we gotta close in even further now."

As the squadron of F-15s closed in to utilise their AIM-9 Sidewinders the aliens began to retaliate, though their retaliation was not as coherent nor forceful as their first volley of missiles. Evidently the aliens were startled by their losses (which proved that the unidentified alien craft were piloted, not drones), but since most of Benjamin's squadron had used up their flares they began to take gradual casualties. When Benjamin was finally in range to use his Sidewinders there were only about fifteen F-15s left in the sky.

Ben wasted no time in using his Sidewinders, picking targets and firing all four missiles. This time his targets were closer, and he could clearly see the alien blips on his HUD struggling to dodge his missiles. Of the four alien craft he aimed for, three vanished from his HUD, shot down by his missiles. Once again he cried victoriously to himself. His squadron seemed to do just as well as he did, as more blips disappeared from his HUD.

" _Finder-One-Zero-Niner_ to _Hotel Command_ , we've expended all missiles and inflicted heavy casualties on the _Bogeys_. Returning to base for resupply."

"Negative _Finder-One-Zero-Niner._ You are to keep engaging the alien aircraft." Airbase command replied. Benjamin furrowed his eyebrows, wondering why.

" _Finder-One-Zero-Niner_ to _Hotel Command,_ " Benjamin enquired into the situation, "Our squadron is in need of resupply. We are all out of missiles and heavily outnumbered."

"That doesn't matter," Hotel Command once again said in a tone that suggested it was truly non-negotiable. "You are to stop the alien aircraft at _all costs_. Do you copy?"

"... Copy that _Hotel Command_." He sighed. _Looks like we're going to have to do the old fashioned 'dogfight'._

Doing so proved to be even more costly. While Benjamin's squadron had used up all their missiles, the aliens clearly did not. Missiles kept heading for Benjamin one after another, chipping away at the remains of the squadron again.

Eventually, after some of the most painful minutes of Benjamin's life, he was within visual range of the alien swarm of aircraft. He and Joey together broke off from formation to try and intercept the forwardmost alien planes with their Vulcan Gatling cannon while the aliens fired back with missiles.

 _This must be what it's like to go against modern jet planes with WW2 fighters._.. Benjamin thought to himself. Just as he finished that thought, though, Benjamin started finding it odd. The fight against the aliens so far had seemed like just another fight against another jet-engine air force with superior numbers. In fact, as Benjamin stared at the aircraft he was firing on he realised that they didn't look too different from modern aircraft (though with a much sleeker body and smoother finish). It was the exact same situation as the drone he and Joey intercepted in October. In other words... the aliens weren't really technologically ahead like everyone would have thought.

Even with technological parity, though, his squadron was vastly outnumbered. Several alien aircraft broke through their interception despite their best efforts.

" _Finder-Six-Zero-One_ to _Finder-One-Seven-Niner..._ how long have we got to keep this up?" Joey asked.

"At all costs," Benjamin relayed Hotel Command's exact words to his wingman. "A couple of _Bogeys_ just shot by us. We have to turn around and catch up to them!"

"Copy that _Finder-One-Seven-Niner..._ we've got to-"

Joey's transmission was suddenly cut short as the night sky suddenly lit up in a way that made the squadron's flares earlier seem like pathetic embers. So bright, in fact, that Benjamin had to shut his eyes (and even then the light pierced through his eyelids). It was soon accompanied by a boom so loud that Benjamin couldn't even hear his own screaming. It was like the sun was suddenly dropped on Earth. Or, more accurately...

"Oh God... no..." As soon as his visibility was restored Benjamin turned to look at the direction of the light. It was suddenly clear to him why the Airbase command was so firm about them stopping the alien aircraft at all costs. Sure enough the sight was exactly what he thought it would be. A bright yellow cloud, shaped like a mushroom, rising over the horizon. Washington D.C. had just been hit by a nuclear bomb.

He was thrown out of his shock just in time, though, to bail out of his plane just before a missile struck it.

 **AAA**

 _1992, June 1st..._

Killercraft Flight Leader Teerts made sure to methodically check all his display screens as his flight team soared through the sky. He hadn't encountered any Tosevite threats up until this point, but Teerts had heard stories from other killercraft pilots that had already flown missions... the first one or two he dismissed as a bad joke, but once he had heard dozens of his fellow killercraft pilots say the same stories while several others he never heard from again Teerts learned that the Tosevites were not pushovers.

The voice of one of the other pilots in the flight, Rolvar, came through the audio piece in Teerts' hearing diaphragm. "Pity we weren't in the first flight group," he complained. "All the Tosevite killercraft in this region have already been shot down or blown up by explosive metal bombs on the ground."

The nature of the complaint came from Rolvar's aggressive tendencies. In fact, all killercraft pilots were selected for their aggressive nature, which also meant they were much more eager to fight than other males of the conquest fleet.

"If they weren't taken down already then we'd be in a much more difficult situation," Teerts responded. As Flight Leader he knew to look beyond just his own killercraft and to the bigger picture. "We only have three killercraft in this flight group since all the other killercraft were transferred to the Tosevite Empire of _America_ ". Teerts loaned the Tosevite name of the empire from the local native language.

"I agree with Rolvar," Gefron said, the other member of the flight group. "I'd have liked to have the chance to fight killercraft to killercraft. That's something we never really got to do back in training on Home."

"You'd also be shot back at. Something that you also didn't get back in training on Home," Teerts replied. "Now let's get back to our mission of blowing up Tosevite landcruisers, yet another thing not in training on Home."

"It shall be done!" his flightmates said in unison.

With that Teerts dropped his killercraft into a dive with Gefron and Rolvar behind him. His killercraft had come out of the starship and thus needed to go a fair bit down before his missiles could hit the Tosevites on the ground. As he did so he saw the ugly black craters left by explosive metal bombs dropped on the Northwestern segment of the Greater Continental Landmass. From what Teerts had been told by his superiors this wasn't even the part of Tosev 3 that had taken the most explosive metal bombs either.

 _It's a pity..._ he thought to himself. Tosev 3 was mostly water and therefore had little usable land, after all. The explosive metal bombs now meant there was even less usable land.

He drove the thought aside quickly. He had to clear the way for the starship landing site, and ground targets were already showing up on his heads-up display.

"Tosevite landcruisers detected! Ten of them!" he said to his flightmates. "Fire anti-landcruiser missiles!"

"It shall be done!"

The flight group released all of their anti-landcruiser missiles as soon as targets were chosen. Each killercraft having four such missiles meant a total of twelve missiles went to the ground. The Tosevite landcruisers on the ground, all neatly parked and without crews, were easy targets for Teerts and his flight. Within moments the Tosevite vehicles all burst into flame.

"Success!" Teerts cried. It was an easy victory but a victory nonetheless. Perhaps without killercraft or landcruisers of their own the Tosevites will realise the futility of resistance and succumb to the Race.

Just as Teerts began to pull up, however, an alarm began to beep alongside a warning displayed on his heads-up display. "Tosevite missiles! They have anti-killercraft missiles on the ground! Evade immediately!"

Following his own advice Teerts began to swing his killercraft in evasive maneuvers as taught in flight drills, something he had never thought he would have needed. He also had electormagnetic countermeasures in the killercraft which would also help against anti-killercraft missiles, which he also wouldn't have thought he would have needed. He immediately thanked the Spirits of the Emperors past for such forethought as a Tosevite missile whizzed by his killercraft, missing his craft by the tiniest amount.

"How did we not detect their anti-killercraft missile batteries?" Rolvar asked, clearly irritated. "We should be able to pick up any radiation based missile with our computers!"

"I don't know," Teerts replied. "The Tosevite batteries might be Infrared missiles. If that's the case their range will be shorter, meaning we only have to climb before we're out of their range!"

Sure enough as his flight group climbed the missiles that chased them became fewer and fewer, until there were soon no more Tosevite missiles chasing them at all.

"Looks like we did it!" Gefron hooted joyously. "We've taken out ten Tosevite landcruisers and evaded all their crude short ranged missiles! _Much_ more exciting than the drills back on Home!"

Teerts certainly agreed with the notion. The victory they'd achieved was something much more thrilling than bombing helpless sword-wielding savages like he was supposed to. "Lets go back to the starship to get more anti-landcruiser missiles," he said. "If the Tosevites were able to shoot at us then we clearly haven't finished clearing the area for the transports to land."

"It shall be done!" Gefron replied, gleeful that he would be able to go on another exciting bombing run. Rolvar, however, didn't give the same response.

"Superior sir! I'm picking up a Tosevite killercraft on my heads-up display!" Rolvar reported.

"What?" Teerts turned one of his eye turrets in the direction that Rolvar noted. Indeed, an unidentified aircraft was approaching their flight group, and it was too fast and too high to be a Tosevite winged animal.

"How could this be? I thought the explosive metal bombs had destroyed all the Tosevite killercraft bases on the ground yesterday!" Rolvar cried.

Teerts quickly went through the possibilities. His sharp thinking was what made him Flight Leader, after all, and he quickly came to a likely conclusion. "If the Tosevites managed to shoot at us today, _after_ we've dropped explosive metal bombs on them then surely they could have shot down some of our killercraft that were supposed to drop explosive metal bombs on their bases!"

"Who cares why?" Gefron soon said. "All that matters is that there's a Tosevite killercraft chasing us and we have to shoot it down!"

It was a statement like that that made Teerts think Gefron would never make flight leader. Even for a killercraft pilot Gefron was rash and didn't look past his eye turrets. Nonetheless, here he had a point. Teerts turned his killercraft to engage the Tosevite.

The computer soon locked the Tosevite craft and Teerts released two of his anti-killercraft missile after that. Although the Tosevite killercraft was beyond the visual range of Teerts, Teerts was able to watch the Tosevite killercraft from a screen displaying the camera feed from the missile he had fired. Through the screen he saw the Tosevite killercraft moving about in evasive maneuvers not too unlike the ones he had performed earlier.

 _Try all you might, but our missiles are designed to be accurate every time_ , Teerts thought. Race technology was designed to have errors ironed out, and would perform perfectly almost a hundred percent of the time, meaning the Tosevite's maneuvers would be next to useless. The only thing that could help the Tosevite now would the killercraft's electromagnetic countermeasures, and if Tosevite ECMs were as terrible as their missiles then the chances of Teerts' missile hitting were higher than the chances it wouldn't. Gefron and Rolvar had also shot two of their missiles each, meaning the Tosevite had a total of six missiles going at him, meaning that the Tosevite was certain to be dead..

It was then, though, that Teerts suddenly remembered the stories he had been told by his fellow killercraft pilots that had flown missions the day before: They had told Teerts that the Tosevite killercraft were cumbersome and their missiles had shorter range than Race missiles, but even still they somehow managed to do more hurt the Race killercrafts more than the Race killercrafts could hurt them. The rest of the story Teerts couldn't quite remember in detail as he had thought it addled at the time, but now he suddenly realised that there must be something in that information that was vital to the situation now...

 _Think! Think think think! What is it that they were warning me about!_

But it was too late. It was only as Teerts watched his screen that he remembered what the other killercraft pilots were warning him about. Just as the six missiles were about to slam into the Tosevite killercraft the killercraft suddenly shed off what seemed to be a hundred little bright lights from its wings, almost like the plane was exploding before the missiles even hit.

But these bright lights were more than a cosmetic effect, instead they lured all six of the missiles towards the lights instead of the Tosevite killercraft. In just that one moment the Tosevite killercraft had gone to 'surely destroyed' to 'completely unharmed'.

"Superior sir! All six of our missiles have failed to hit the target!" Gefron reported. It was noticeable that the tone of his voice was no longer gleeful, instead it was one of terror that Teerts himself felt.

"What!?" Teerts cried in disbelief. "That's not possible! We had him locked on!"

As though to emphasize that it was possible the Tosevite killercraft, now having Teerts in his range, fired his own missile at Teerts. Once again Teerts' killercraft was filled with the sound and sight of missile lock alert, and once again he had to throw his plane into evasive action.

Fortunately the Tosevite missile performed just as poorly as the ground missiles had before, and went past Teerts' killercraft harmlessly. Even better was the fact that the Tosevite had only fired a single missile, though Teerts had no idea why. Perhaps the Tosevite only had one missile, or perhaps he could only fire one at a time for whatever reason. Regardless of the reason why Teerts didn't care to find out.

"Fire at the Tosevite again!" he cried, remembering the advice that his fellow killercraft pilots had given him in full detail now. "The Tosevite can only shed its lights once!"

Once again locking the Tosevite on target Teerts let another two missiles fly, his flightmates doing the same. He watched the screen intently as the Tosevite made evasive maneuvers once again, praying to the Spirits that the Tosevite won't pull the light trick a second time.

And his prayers were answered as he saw, in great detail, the Tosevite pilot suddenly ejecting from the killercraft moments before the craft burst into flames. The blip on Teerts' screen disappeared at this same instant, and the threat was gone.

"Killercraft destroyed..." Teerts said shakily.

The rest of the flight was in silence. His flightmales didn't say a word over radio as they returned to the starship for refueling and resupplying. Even though they'd scored a magnificent victory with no casualties, all three of them were in complete shock of what they'd just seen. A Tosevite killercraft evading _six_ missiles simply by shedding lights! Tosevite installations that had survived after explosive metal bombing!

Teerts slumped into his cockpit even after his engine had turned off and the servicemales tended his killercraft. He couldn't help but wonder how many more Tosevite tricks he would be expected to face before the conquest was complete.

 **AAA**

 _1992, 4th June..._

It had been a while since Šimon Holub had last seen his wife. They'd married barely a week when Šimon was called into service. And now Šimon was... frankly he had no idea where he was anymore. He always had a poor sense of geography. In any case, he was fighting a war far away from his newly wedded wife, and he only had a picture of her to keep him company.

"Oi! Stop jerking off to your misses you dumbass Czech! Seargent says we're moving!" said the platoon's designated marksman Ján Bača with a sly grin.

That's right. He had more than a picture to keep him company. He also had his good friend since early in high school, Ján, who'd found his way into the same unit. A Slovak, a talented marksman, and a smug asshole rolled into one.

Šimon sneered back at his friend. "Shut up you Slovakian bastard," he retorted. "Just because you're jealous that I married the prettiest girl in class while you married your right hand."

"What can I say? My right hand is good at more than pulling triggers," Ján said. "And at least I didn't drink myself silly at the wedding party like you did."

"Would you two ladies stop your gossiping and get off your fat asses? You're both equally ugly!" Sergeant Edvard Kolář said in a forceful whisper. "Now get moving! There's a war going on!"

"Yes mum," Ján said, feigning a pout. He and Šimon got back into formation alongside the rest of the platoon as they marched.

Though 'marched' was sugarcoating it. In reality the platoon was stumbling along aimlessly in the middle of God-knows-where, trying to find... frankly Šimon didn't even know what they were trying to find either. In fact, all Šimon knew was that aliens had dropped out of the sky and dropped nuclear bombs on just about every major base and city in Europe and America.

"Remind me again _why_ we're walking around in circles?" Šimon complained.

His friend Ján raised an eyebrow. "You're dumber than you look, and considering how you look that's a big achievement," he commented.

"Well forgive me for not being a know-it-all. I was too busy getting laid." Šimon shot back, earning a laugh from the both of them. "Seriously, though, where are we going?"

Ján, being a designated marksman and having a sharper wit than the average soldier (something Šimon would never admit) explained. "Since the aliens have arrived they've hit harder in the West than the East. Prague has been hit harder than Bratislava, for instance."

"What do you know? The aliens are racist bastards," Šimon noted amusedly. "Good to know they're relatable."

"They probably bombed the Czech side harder than the Slovak side because you're the Czech and I'm the Slovak."

"It's because the West side has more development," the sergeant suddenly butt in. "They hit the places on Earth with the most industry first so we can't fight back as hard. That's why America has been hit harder than anyone else."

Put like that Šimon came to see the logic of the aliens (or at least... he thought he did). It made sense to take down the strongest enemy first, then work your way down. However, that didn't explain his question of _"Where are we going?"_

Further explaining the situation the Sergeant helped clear Šimon's lack of understanding. "Since the West side has been hit harder, both by more nukes and just more in general, Division has ordered us to head Eastwards to regroup and form a proper line. The aliens have so far dropped on our heads with starships so far, so a lot of units are at risk of getting cut off. Us included."

"So... we're retreating?" Šimon asked. "We haven't even seen combat yet."

Just as the Sergeant was about to turn his head to answer Šimon, evidently with a _"don't ask stupid questions_ expression, Ján suddenly yelled "Get down! Air attack!"

Through habit of training Šimon threw himself on the ground. Through his peripheral vision he saw the rest of the platoon doing the same. He wasn't sure how much good it would do him if the aliens shot at him with laser beams or plasma bombs or the like, but it was as good a response as any.

It was then that he heard the sound of a jet plane whizzing by. _That doesn't sound like an alien saucer_ he was about to say, when he then felt a sudden heat and shockwave, followed by a deafening _boom_ behind him.

"Crap..." the Sergeant cursed. "Shoot him down!"

Šimon clambered back up, glancing at the plane that had gone overhead in curiosity. It sounded exactly like a human jet plane, and not of some floating disk. When he caught sight of it, it also _looked_ like a human jet plane. But it wasn't any model of plane he had seen before, and it most certainly just dropped bombs on him.

"Stop daydreaming you Czech cunt!" Ján screamed. "Use that Strela!"

Suddenly remembering that he had the platoon's MANPAD assigned to him (something that had only occurred days ago) Šimon fumbled to get the portable anti-aircraft missile out. He aimed the missile at the aircraft that had flown by, waiting for the lock, then pulled the trigger. The missile shot out of the tube mounted on his shoulder and chased the alien plane into the distance. Šimon didn't see whether he hit the plane or not. Most likely he didn't.

"That... that didn't look like an alien..." he said weakly.

"That doesn't change the fact that he tried to bomb us," the Sergeant said, glancing around. "Looks like everyone's still alive. Get your lazy backsides off the ground! It's no time to be taking an afternoon nap! We have to get to cover before that jackass returns!"

Once again the platoon scrambled back to their feet and started marching.

"You had to fucking jinx it, didn't you?" Ján said.

When Šimon raised his eyebrows to show he didn't understood what Ján meant, Ján continued. "Now we've seen combat. Any more fucking questions?"

Šimon paused to think about it. "Yeah, just one," he said. "How long have you had that pole up your ass?"

 **AAA**

 _1992, 6th June..._

When Ussmak had first joined up for soldiers time he had not expected there to be any real danger. He was a male of the Race, after all, and the Race were the destined masters of the universe. The conquest of Halless 1 and Rabotev 2 proved that, and the conquest of Tosev 3 was going to further prove that. Now he was actually in a landcruiser driving through the west end of the Tosevite Empire, the " _SSSR_ " steaming eastward he was feeling a lot less sure.

The entire conquest fleet had been briefed that the Tosevite natives had somehow much greater technology than originally anticipated, and Ussmak found it hard to believe at first. He now believed it, though. With every bit they drove Ussmak got to see another nasty surprise... sometimes he would see primative Tosevite cars on the street, or a tall concrete Tosevite building. Other times he would be met with the sound of Tosevite rifle bullets ricocheting off the armour of his landcruiser. There were even a few times he caught glimpses of burning Tosevite landcruisers that had been destroyed by Race killercraft.

 _Thank the Spirits of the Emperors past they're destroyed..._ he thought to himself. Even though the metal carcass looked more primitive than the smooth, streamlined vehicle Ussmak drove they still looked much more formidable than the enemies than the Tosevites were originally supposed to be.

"Who would have thought the Tosevites would have changed so much after only 1,700 years?" Telerep, the gunner of the landcruiser, exclaimed. "What an egg-addled planet this is!"

"Truth," Ussmak agreed. "I can see why the planners back on home had decided to increase the size of the conquest fleet. Tosev 3 truly is too different from any other planet known to the Race."

"We should be thankful to the Spirits of Emperors past that we were only assigned to the western portion of the greater continental landmass," said the landcruiser commander Votal. "Nearly half the conquest fleet has been assigned to the lesser continental landmass which fired explosive metal bombs at them before they landed."

"Truth," Ussmak once again agreed. The decision was to take out the Tosevites on the lesser continental landmass because it had stronger military and industrial capacity, and their use explosive metal bombs showed this was truth. From the briefing Ussmak remembered that the Tosevite landcruisers there were also more formidable than the destroyed ones he'd seen so far. _Hopefully not so formidable that they'll give us too much trouble._

It still perplexed Ussmak, though. Why would the Tosevites have their primary military and industrial capacity focused on the lesser of the continental landmasses?

As the landcruiser, alongside other landcruisers, kept going Eastwards Ussmak noticed that urban centers began to become fewer, and the roads became poorer in quality. They were likely reaching the end of the main industrial region on the greater continental landmass. Just as Ussmak was about to think that the conquest might end up over as quickly as originally planned, however, he heard a sudden roar behind him.

"By the Emperor!" Telerep cried. The landcruiser crew instinctually cast their eyes downwards at the mention of the Emperor, as males of the Race are trained to do. "What was that?"

"It's the landcruiser behind us! It's been blown up!" Votal answered, greatly shaken. "Get inside the landcruiser! Use your periscopes!"

"It shall be done!" Ussmak and Telerep answered, scrambling back into their compartments. Just before he did so Ussmak managed to catch a glimpse of the landcruiser behind him. He was shocked to find that not only had the landcruiser been blown up, but the entire turret had been torn right off and flung far away from the hull. Likely the males inside didn't feel any pain before they died.

Ussmak hissed in irritation. There weren't even supposed to be any Race casualties when the conquest was planned, but being a landcruiser driver was considered one of the safest possible combat roles since you were surrounded by armour at all times. But now even 'safest' wasn't safe enough.

Not too long later Ussmak felt another explosion and shockwave, this time in front of him, hitting the dirt.

"They're on our right side!" Ussmak said."They're hitting the weak sides of our armour!"

"Gunner! Sabot!" Votal ordered. He'd already seen the target Tosevites.

"Sabot!" Telerep repeated. The loading system fed a round into the breech of the cannon. "Up and ready!"

"Landcruiser, right!" Votal ordered. Even though he wasn't the gunner, Ussmak turned his periscope to look in the direction to see the Tosevite landcruiser. The machine was small and low with a spherical turret, while its hull was hidden behind a small mound of dirt. Even from a distance Ussmak could see pieces of what looked like bricks and lights inelegantly stapled onto the primitive landcruiser, likely as hasty Tosevite upgrades to the vehicle.

"Identified!" Telerep turned the gun towards the designated enemy landcruiser. Whoever it was, they would pay for the landcruiser they just destroyed.

"Fire!"

The landcruiser made just the slightest jolt from the recoil. From his telescope Ussmak could see the round fly out towards the Tosevite's position, and then the burst of flame as the Tosevite landcruiser burst. "Hit!" he yelled alongside his crew members.

But the battle was not over. Another round came from the position a little to the side of the Tosevite landcruiser just destroyed. This meant that the Tosevites still had landcruisers left. This second landcruiser was soon also wiped away, though, as the two Race landcruisers in front of Ussmak's vehicle shot in unison, their shells completely ripping their way through the Tosevite.

"Driver! Forward!" Votal ordered.

"It shall be done!" Ussmak complied, once again gunning up the engine. The Race landcruisers further behind had to go around the destroyed carcass. It was their first actual landcruiser to landcruiser battle, and they'd traded one landcruiser for two. Only... there weren't supposed to _be_ any landcruiser to landcruiser battles. Even if they had won the engagement Ussmak didn't feel victorious.

And within a few moments even that 'victory' was taken away, when Ussmak suddenly saw a small flash through his telescope, from a direction far away in front of them. This was soon followed by a whistle, and then... _boom!_

Votal hissed in anger. "Driver! Halt!"

Ussmak quickly stopped the vehicle before staring through his periscope in shock. The landcruiser at the front of the formation had stopped moving completely, rendered inoperable. "That was a frontal hit!" he said, hardly believing what was happening. "That's where the landcruiser should have the strongest armour!"

Fortunately, even though the strongest armour had failed to stop the shell that destroyed it, it was enough to protect the crew. Ussmak was relieved to see the crew of the landcruiser in front of him scramble out of their compartments, dazed but unharmed.

Far in the distance the Tosevite landcruiser that had done the damage suddenly emerged, coming out of a small patch of vegetation that had covered it, retreating backwards from the Race landcruisers, still with its frontal armour and gun pointed at them.

"Gunner!" Votal said, having also seen the enemy. "Landcruiser, front!"

"Identified!"

Before Telerep fired, however, the landcruisers behind who had also seen what was happening opened up first, sending a round flying towards the Tosevite landcruiser, scoring a direct hit. The Tosevite vehicle came to a halt.

And then, to Ussmak's horror, the Tosevite returned fire at the Race landcruiser that had just scored the hit. The Race cruiser, still in the process of trying to go around the previously destroyed carcass, was hit at the side of the hull, bursting into bits of flame and metal.

"How could this be? It was hit!" Ussmak all but screamed. This had to be some sort of bad nightmare.

Votal, however, managed to keep his cool, like a proper trained male of the race, which prompted his crewmales to calm down and resume their cool as well. "Fire!"

Another shell flew from the landcruiser's cannon. The accuracy of Race landcruisers combined with Telerep's skill and training meant the hit was guaranteed, but Ussmak saw the shot bounce off the Tosevite's armour. The Tosevite beast had weathered two hits from Race land cruisers and still hadn't perished! By the Spirits of the Emperors past, how was this possible? Even with Votal's steadfast composure and all of Ussmak's training he could feel himself feeling increasingly uneasy.

Peering through the periscope in greater detail he started to get a hatchling of an idea of why the landcruiser was much more resilient than the last two they had faced... it was an entirely different model. This model had a larger, boxier hull, with a turret less like a dome, instead being lower in general. From a distance it looked a lot more similar to a Race landcruiser, with the exception of the additional armour and extra gear crudely thrown on.

But even if the shots didn't destroy the Tosevites it certainly gave them a good scare. The Tosevite landcruiser started to back away as quickly as it could, and trying to fire at the same time, throwing off their aim. The round it fired came straight towards Ussmak's periscope, and he soon felt a huge shock throughout. _Is this where it ends...?_ he thought.

After what seemed to be a lifetime, though, Ussmak heard his commander's voice. "Ussmak! Are you alright?"

"... Yes... superior sir..." he said. He was alive and well it seemed, though a little dizzy. The armour of the landcruiser had protected his life. He thanked the Spirits for that. "It seems my periscope has been damaged..."

"Those Big Uglies will pay for this!" Votal hissed. "Gunner! Landcruiser front!"

"Identified!"

"Fire!"

Even though Ussmak could no longer view it, the recoil in the tank told him that the shell had been fired. Within a moment he heard Telerep yell "Hit! Tosevite landcruiser destroyed!"

Votal maintained his stance of caution for a while longer, wanting to make sure that there truly were no more Tosevites left, before he finally relaxed. "All Tosevites in the area should be cleared now," he stated, finally revealing shakiness in his voice. "Ussmak, you might have to operate unbuttoned now that your periscope is gone. I'll message for replacement periscopes."

"Yes, superior sir," Ussmak replied.

Telerep, slouching back now after being fully stressed out from the exchange, said, "A victory hard earned..." He added a weak emphatic cough at the end of the statement.

"Truth..." Votal agreed. "Perhaps too hard earned. Regardless... I'm confident that we will prevail over the Tosevites. When we do they'll make excellent subjects the Race!"

Ussmak also agreed. He too was certain that the Race will ultimately prevail on Tosev 3, even if the Tosevites had landcruisers and explosive metal bombs. The Race was destined to prevail after all. But even so, he still had a terrible feeling in his stomach. The Race had just traded three of their landcruisers for three Tosevite landcruisers... and this wasn't even the focus area of Tosevite military and industry. Too many males were now with the Spirits of the Emperors past, now, because of this exchange... how many more eggs will the Race have to break before they conquer this planet?

His concerns were pushed aside, however, when he heard Votal's command. "Driver! Forward!"

Recollecting his spirit Ussmak pushed his landcruiser forward once more.

 **AAA**

 **Shiplords take note of successes scene**

 **AAA**

 **A/N:**

 **So we get a chapter almost filled completely with combat scenes. This chapter has certainly been a pleasure to write, and I fear I may have gotten carried away with it.**

 **The dual scenes of Benjamin and Teerts were both things not originally planned and were later added. I'm no aviation enthusiast, but these scenes ended up being a fair amount of fun to write (though also very exhausting to do so). I'm sure I've gotten details wrong here and there, so feel free to point out anything you notice. A particular thing I enjoyed was playing increasingly with the idea that humanity had some technologies that the Race never developed... things like missiles that fire into space as seen in the last chapter, and flares on our planes in this chapter. I think it'd be plausible that humanity (which has spent a longer time having war than peace) would develop military technologies that the Race didn't, even if the Race spent a longer time developing these technologies: it's the difference between two people developing "shield and sword" and another person making "sword only". The latter will be better at making swords but the former two will end up with something the latter does not. Likewise, in this fanfic the Race has better missiles and aircraft, but they don't have flares and don't know how to counter them.**

 **The scene with the Czechoslovakian infantry platoon is the least developed scene (as you could probably tell), since it's almost shoehorned in for the sake of having more perspectives (which I'm thinking of cutting). I might try to flesh it out later, or make later scenes of that unit more detailed, but for now I'm leaving it as it is.**

 **The scene with the landcruiser vs human tanks battle was my personal favourite scene, and I'd such a scene in my mind for years. It certainly helps that I've always had a thing for tanks, especially Soviet tanks, since childhood. I pictured this scene as occurring in the (former) Soviet Union, with the Race first being ambushed by older Soviet tanks like T-55s or T-62s which they make short work of, before meeting newer Soviet tanks that are able to take their landcruisers on one on one. In this scene specifically I imagined the last tank that they face to be a Ukrainian or Belarusian T-64BV or T80U tank which are likely to be capable of rivaling the fictional Race tanks. To make things a bit more fair, though, I'm going to say that East European training and morale is record low in 1992, and I've decided to give Race landcruisers superior 'soft skills' like greater accuracy, faster movement speed etc. rather than assuming that Race tanks based off existing models when Turtledove wrote the Worldwar series (in 1994), otherwise human tanks would have no problem with the tactless Race landcruisers.**

 **The chapter was supposed to be longer, but I had to cut out a great many details in order for me to be able to write the chapter out. I've also been considering cutting more and more of my initial planned characters. Even with all these cuts, though, there is simply too much for me to write, such that I can almost guarantee you all now that I probably won't be able to write Worldwar: A Delicate Balance to the end. Nonetheless, I'll see how far I can go.**

 **So far I've been putting up these chapters the instant I finish them for the sake of publishing speed but I'll be slowing down from this chapter onwards, since a) I no longer have the luxury of time, b) I may lose interest/enthusiasm, c) I need to go back and correct details that have been mentioned in reviews/PMs so far.**


End file.
